


Sweet Layla

by itchyfingers



Series: Richard and Layla [2]
Category: Richard Armitage - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Anxiety Disorder, Dirty Talk, Domestic Violence, F/M, Love, Masturbation, Sex, Trust, Violence, breath play, voice!kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-03
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-13 20:56:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 51,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/828793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itchyfingers/pseuds/itchyfingers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richard and Layla met the day that Layla's longterm boyfriend dumped her. After a one-night stand that was intended to cheer her up, what happens when both parties start to develop feelings for each other?</p><p>This work is a sequel to "Of Bars, Batteries, and Beetles."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Layla shoved the wild strands of hair back out of her face again as she grabbed her purse from the entry table. She opened the door while fumbling cash out of her wallet and asked the delivery man, “How much do I owe you?” She looked up at him questioningly and stopped dead in her tracks. “You’re not dinner.”

Richard laughed. “Very observant.”

She couldn’t understand why he was there. She stuck her head out the door and looked down the hall and then at Richard again. “Why aren’t you dinner?”

He cocked his head to the side. “Would you like me to go get you something to eat?”

She scrunched her eyes closed and rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand. “No. Sorry. I ordered dinner and I thought you were the delivery guy.” She shoved her hair out of her face again and shook her head as if clearing her thoughts. “Why are you here?”

“I was hoping you had left something behind at my house yesterday so I would have an excuse to come see you again,” he grinned at her sheepishly, “but you remembered everything. I did, however, bring you this.” He held out a gift bag.

She looked at the red bag and then back up at him. “You bought me a gift?”

He nodded and she took the bag from him. “It’s heavy,” she said in surprise

He chuckled. “I thought lingerie would be a little forward at this point.”

She stuck her tongue out at him, but reached through the tissue and pulled out a simple, elegant crystal vase and looked at it in surprise. “You bought me a vase.”

“I was hoping you would let me bring you flowers on a regular basis, and I wanted to make sure you would have somewhere to put them.”

 She looked back up at him, her brow wrinkled in confusion. He had to duck his head a little to look at her, but one eyebrow was slightly raised in expectation and a charming smile softened the strong lines of his face. “Are you asking me on a date?”

He laughed again. “Yes.”

Her brow furrowed even more. “You had better come in.”

His smile fell at this unexpected reaction, but he followed her in and shut the door. She plopped down on the sofa and waved her hand at the other end for him to take a seat. When he had, she pointed at him with the vase. “You bought me a vase.”

“Yes.”

“So I could put flowers in it.”

“Yes.”

“Because you want to bring me flowers.”

“Yes.”

“Because you want to take me on a date.”

“Yes.”

“Huh.” She paused. “Okay, so I get all that, but that leaves at least one ginormous question to be answered.”

“And what is that?”

“Why would  _you_  want to date  _me_? I mean, have you  _seen_  me?”

A rakish smile teased at one corner of his mouth. “Yes, I have.”

She rolled her eyes even as she felt a blush creeping up her neck. “Not like  _that._ I mean, look at me. I’m a mess. Literally and figuratively.” His eyes roamed over her face.  Sweat dampened tendrils of hair clung to her forehead and neck while the rest was pulled back in some sort of wild bird’s nest of curls. A smudge of dirt bedecked one of her cheekbones. Her faded tee was smeared in several places with dust and her jeans were faded and frayed and covered in old stains. He reached forward and rubbed the dirt off of her cheek with his thumb.

“Nothing a bath won’t fix.” He smiled at her.

“And that’s where you’re wrong, because I am a  _mess_  on the  _inside_  too, and no amount of bath is going to clean away the fact that I just a silly girl who makes really bad decisions and says whatever pops into her head and I am not the kind of girl who attracts handsome strangers in bars and has nights of crazy fantastic amazing sex with men I barely know. I’m the kind of girl who works hard and gets honors and promotions and dates serious intelligent guys who are more interested in fucking beetles in Indonesia than in her.” She stopped and thought about what she had just said. “That fucking was an adjective, not a verb. Joshua doesn’t actually fuck beetles.”

Richard nodded. “I had figured that out.”

“But he  _does_  fuck his grad student. Or maybe there’s been more than one, I don’t know. But apparently he’s moving her in here when they get back in a month so thank you for asking me out on a date, but really, I’m busy for the next little bit because I kind of have to pack and find a new flat and like, buy furniture and stuff because basically everything in here is his and I never really noticed that until today when I started sorting through things and can basically fit all my belongings except for my clothes and my books in four boxes. This means that in addition to the packing and the flat-finding and furniture buying and everything else, I also have to find time to deal with the shattering realization that I have absolutely nothing to show for the last three years of my personal life except a life-long hatred of anything with six legs.” She took a deep breath. “So, thank you, Richard, for the lovely vase, and the flattering idea that someone like you might be interested in the façade I managed to hold together in front of you, but I think you would be happier if you found someone more… _more,_ than I am.”

He nodded, a disappointed look on his face. “That’s a very well-reasoned argument. However, I would like to present one piece of evidence that you seem to have overlooked, if that’s okay with you.”

“What is that?”

He leaned forward and cupped her face with his hand, wrapping his fingers around to the back of her neck and tugging her gently towards him. When they were just an inch apart, he said, “ _I_ am not Joshua.”

“That’s true. You are not Joshua. But,” she got cut off.

“I am  _not_  Joshua. I have seen you drunk and I have seen you sober and I have seen you laugh and cry and talk about Barbies and cellos and skiing and I want to see more of you. I want to hear more about your adventures in Argentina and I want to know what unexpected thing you’re going to say next and I want to go with you to a fashion show and have you teach me the difference between hound’s-tooth and herringbone. I find you fascinating, Layla, and I know that we met on one of the worst days of your adult life, but maybe, if you give me a chance, we could turn it into one of the best.”

She stared at him dumbstruck for a moment. Then she pulled back from him with a suspicious look on her face. She grasped his head and tilted it from side to side as if she was looking for something, and then let go of it and sat back.

“No earpieces.”

“No.” He looked baffled.

“So you just come up with lines like that spontaneously? There’s no Cyrano whispering you things to say?”

He laughed. “You are a powerful muse, my lady.”

This pronouncement was met with an exasperated little shriek. “Oh my god, you are  _unreal_. How is a girl supposed to turn you down?”

“Lots of them have. But then,” and his voice became even deeper than normal as his cool blue eyes heated, “I haven’t found anyone nearly as inspiring as you in a very long time.” He leaned in towards her again and she couldn’t help herself; she leaned in to meet him. It was gentle and soft and healing in a way, to be kissed by someone who had pursued her, rather than out of obligation or routine. Rather than stoking a fire deep within her, his lips were balm on a wounded heart and she calmed under the steady slow movements of his mouth against hers. They were interrupted by a knock at the door.

“That’s probably dinner,” she said, as she rested her forehead against his. She took a deep breath and stood. She paid for the food and turned around to find Richard standing.

“I should go so you can enjoy your dinner.”

“No, please. Stay. I always order way too much because I can never decide what I want. There’s plenty of food.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded. “Please?”

“Okay then.”

They sat and ate while chatting about inconsequential things, but finally Layla said, “You’re a very good kisser.”

“Thank you.”

“I like kissing you.” She smiled.

He returned the smile, wondering where this conversation was heading. “I like kissing you, too.”

“And while normally that is a good thing, I’m not sure knowing how good you are at kissing and other kissing-adjacent activities is necessarily beneficial to me because I like being kissed and it’s been so long since I’ve been really  _kissed,_ before this last weekend I mean, that I’m not sure how to tell the difference between liking being kissed and liking being kissed by you.”

“Let me get this straight.” He seemed offended. “You’re saying that you want to date me for more than just my body?” He grinned at her like a schoolboy.

She smiled. “Something like that.”

He rested his hand on her knee. “How about this: the next time we kiss, you have to start it and I’ll just be your friend until you decide if you want to kiss me.”

“You want to be my friend.” She sounded skeptical.

“Yes.

“You realize you’re Richard Armitage, right?”

He nodded solemnly. “I was aware of that.”

“And you are going to be my friend until I decide whether or not I want to actually date you.”

“Yes.”

She looked at him carefully and then shook her head. “Well, you’re obviously insane, so that’s one point against me kissing you.”

He laughed. “Do I have any points in my favor yet?”

“A few.”

“Good. I’m going to go then, before I lose any more points.”

They both stood and walked to the door. She looked up at him awkwardly for a few moments before he pulled her into a hug. “I’ll call you. We can go do something this week if you want.”

She nodded, resisting the urge to pull him into the bedroom and make him spend the night. “That sounds like fun.”

“Good night, Layla.”

She shut the door after him and then dove for her phone. “Izzy, you are not going to believe what happened!” She listened for a few seconds and then rolled her eyes. “Yes, I know where I am.”

 

richard armitage [edit](http://lotsofchocolateicecream.tumblr.com/post/45757317295)


	2. Chapter 2

“Are you awake?”

She tapped out the text on her device and sent it. She knew nothing about Richard’s routine yet, especially on a weekend, but as she stared at the bedroom ceiling and thought about his unexpected visit earlier that evening, one question kept nagging at her.

Her phone rang and she pushed the green icon on the screen.

“Yes, I’m awake.”

“You’re a talker, not a texter.”

“Is that a problem?”

“With your voice, it may be.” She rolled over on to her side and pulled her blanket up over her shoulders.

His deep laughter made her phone vibrate in her hand. “Well, if it does too much damage to your knickers, let me know and I’ll end the call and text instead.”

“You seem very sure of your abilities,” she teased.

“Darling, I’m pretty sure I could talk you to orgasm without ever touching you. But, I don’t think friends do that, so what did you want to talk about?”

The speed with which his voice could change from pure sex to friendly banter left her head spinning. It took her a second to regain her footing but then she asked, “I keep thinking about what you said earlier, that you’ve gotten to know me and want to get to know me better, but it leaves one big question for me unanswered.”

“And what’s that?”

“Why did you come up to me in the bar in the first place? I mean, you’re famous and gorgeous and talented and you’ve been made into a Lego. I just can’t figure out what made you come talk to me.” She hated herself for the sudden insecurity in her voice, but she couldn’t understand why this ‘most eligible bachelor’ list male sat down next to her.

“I was about to leave, I had been having a drink with someone about an upcoming project, and I saw you sitting at the bar. Your hair practically glowed like fire under the lights, but the thing that struck me about you was that you were so sad. And it wasn’t the sad of someone who was used to being sad, who had sadness ingrained in their skin, who had been defeated. It was obviously fresh and overwhelming. I remember thinking, ‘there is no reason a woman that beautiful should be that sad,’ though of course sadness has nothing to do with deserving or attractiveness, but that’s what went through my mind. I just wanted to cheer you up.”

“Because you thought I was beautiful?” An odd combination of skepticism and giggliness pervaded her voice.

“Because I thought you were sad. I’d like to think I would have been as kind even if you weren’t so lovely.”

“You do realize that I work with models all day. The idea of someone thinking of me as beautiful is a little foreign.”

“Didn’t Joshua tell you that you were beautiful?” Layla didn’t know what it said about her that she could see the lines between Richard’s brows and the concern and confusion in his eyes as he said those words.

She closed her eyes and recited. “Beauty is a social construct designed to keep women competing over artificially scarce male attention rather than subverting the dominant patriarchal paradigm that oppresses them.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the call. “Layla, I don’t know how to put this gently, but what in the hell were you doing with that man?”

“He’s smart and he does serious things. He’s a university professor and he always had thoughtful opinions about important topics, and was very earnest about things.”

“Was he ever earnest about  _you_?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did he ever make you feel like you were the oxygen in his lungs? Were you the reason he woke up in the morning? Did he hold you in the darkness of the night when your fears were lurking in the shadows?”

“Nightmares are irrational.” Her voice was quiet and sad. She wasn’t going to admit to Richard, just like she had never told Joshua, that she still slept with a nightlight on the nights when Joshua was gone.

“Is that what he told you?”

“I’ve always been – I’m not sure what the word is. Flighty? I guess? My mother used to tell me I was a flibbertigibbet. It’s one of those wonderful words that sound exactly like what it means. But growing up meant I needed to become an adult, that I needed to calm down and be more serious. Joshua helped me with that.”

“You mean he crushed your spirit.”

She didn’t say anything for a long time. “Isn’t it supposed to – I mean, relationships are supposed to be hard work. It’s not like in the movies where you find your soul mate and just thinking about the other person makes you smile and you get weak in the knees when you see them. That’s just a fairy tale. So we weren’t happy all the time, but that’s how everyone’s relationships are, right? We had our good times and bad times.”

“What was the last good time you two had?”

“He took me out ballroom dancing for my birthday.”

“You like to dance?”

“I  _love_  it. Ballroom, latin, just going out to the club – any of it.”

“That was thoughtful of him.”

“It was! He wasn’t a complete jerk, regardless of what I may have said at Brandini’s Thursday night. He was just older and more set in his ways and I had to–,” again she paused as she searched for the right word, “ _adapt_  to that a little.”

“A little? Did he adapt to you?”

“Not really, but–,”  She sighed. “I’ve been having this exact conversation with my friends for the last year. Sooner or later you think I’m going to stop arguing and realize that I wasn’t happy.”

“Once you realize you weren’t happy, then you can figure you out how to change it.”

“Yes, but my choices are between admitting I stayed in a relationship that made me sad for over a year because I was a coward about leaving, or denying that I was unhappy. I think I’m still in the denial stage of grief.”

“How about instead of denial or cowardice, you think about it as you were strong enough to try and make your relationship work, and brave enough now to make a new life for yourself.”

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Are you trying to make me feel better?”

“Is it working?”

“Maybe.” She smiled.

“Good. What do you say that tomorrow night we go see a film that will either make you laugh or where loads of things blow up and then go get ice cream?”

“I thought the traditional breakup recipe was a movie that made me cry and ice cream.”

“Yes, well, I don’t think he’s worth any more of your tears.”

“And if I do?”

“Then you cry as many as you want. The end of a relationship is always hard, regardless of the circumstances.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow when I get out of work?”

“That sounds good. Until tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Richard.”

“Goodnight, beautiful Layla.”

She was standing outside the cinema checking her messages when she heard Richard say, “I should just get used to the fact that you will always make me look dreadfully boring.”

She turned her head and gave him a quick once over. Grey shirt, dark jeans, leather jacket. “Not boring, classic. And if this was a date instead of two friends going to a movie together, I’d tell you that you looked sexy, too.” She winked at him and he grinned. “And don’t worry about me. I didn’t have time to go home and change and I dress like this for work.”

“You wore those shoes all day?”

Layla looked down at the heels she had on. “You wear prosthetic dwarf feet, I wear high heels. It’s part of the job.”

“Don’t your feet hurt?”

“Darling, I work in the fashion industry. Pain is part of the territory. We dress like it’s competitive sport.”

He looked her up and down. She was wearing a grey tee with the sleeves rolled tucked into a navy lace knee length skirt and some sort of metal and leather belt. She noticed his eyes lingering in certain places longer than others before licking his lips and smiling at her. “Well, I think you won.”

“I told you I was good at my job.” She grinned outwardly, though inside she was surprised at how different it felt to have a man appreciate her for her skills and looks. Different and  _good._ Joshua had always refused to ‘objectify’ her. “I bought the tickets. You can get the popcorn.”

As they waited for the movie to start, Layla scritched her fingernail along Richard’s jaw. “You just bored of shaving or is the beard coming back?”

“I have to go to New Zealand in a few weeks to shoot pick-ups, so I need the beard back.”

“I like it. Though it kind of makes me want to pet your face.”

“You go right ahead.”

Layla noticed people a few rows ahead turning around and looking at them and put her hand back in her lap. “I think you’ve been spotted.”

He chuckled. “It happens. Don’t feel like you have to stop because of that.”

“Maybe when the lights go down.”

He watched a faint blush appear in her cheeks as she stared at her hands twisted together in a knot in her lap. “Layla, I don’t care if people see us together, however you want to interpret together.”

She met his gaze. “I just want to be surer of where we are before someone posts a picture of us on the internet. I don’t want to have to deal with the gossip at work before I’m sure there’s something for people to gossip about.”

“Okay, well, let me know if and when you’re ready and I’ll help you give them something to talk about.”

She stifled a giggle. “You’re so nice to volunteer like that. Very helpful of you.”

The lights finally went down and they settled into their seats. Layla kept getting the giggles, which was okay since they were watching a comedy, but the funniest thing to her was the awkward energy between her and Richard. It was like being in a teen movie where their hands would brush against each other when they both reached for popcorn at the same time, and she would yank her hand back and he would snicker. She finally realized he was doing it on purpose which made her throw a handful of popcorn at him when he wasn’t looking.

He looked at her reproachfully. “If you do that again, I’m going to have to hold your hand to make you behave.”

Layla tried to assume an apologetic expression but she had to cover her mouth to hide the smile that was fighting to emerge. She waited until he went back to watching the movie, counted to twenty and launched another handful at him. Without even looking, he took the popcorn bucket from between them and placed it on the empty seat to his side with one hand and grasped her hand gently with his other. Their fingers interlaced together and he stroked the back of her hand with the pad of his thumb. Part of her wanted to giggle and part of her wanted to whimper with pleasure and the noise that came out ended up being a little burbling sound which made her have to bite the inside of her cheeks to keep from laughing. She could see Richard watching her out of the corner of his eye which just made it worse so she took her free hand and put it against his face so he couldn’t see her.

“Actually, I don’t think that helps,” she whispered after a few seconds, and put her hand back down. She took a few deep breaths and then muttered, “Oh, fuck it.” She pulled her hand loose from Richard’s, flipped up the arm rest between them, grabbed his hand and pulled his arm around her shoulders and snuggled into his side.

He looked down at her, a curious smile on his face. “Comfortable?”

She nodded.

“Good.” He squeezed her shoulder and softly kissed the top of her head and went back to watching the movie.

Eighty percent of Layla was watching the movie. The other twenty percent was highly occupied with cataloging the feel of Richard’s fingers against her arm, the subtle shift of his chest as he breathed, and the feel of his thigh under her hand. She had always heard that you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone, but she was starting to think you didn’t know what you were missing until you had it.

After the movie they walked hand-in-hand to the ice cream parlor, where he ordered chocolate and she got strawberry cheesecake. They talked about the movie, and about his upcoming trip to New Zealand and what shooting pick-ups entailed. And then he asked her about her job, and what it meant to be a fashion journalist. That surprised her a bit. Men never seemed to show interest in what she did. She watched him for signs that she was boring him as she explained her duties from choosing clothes for photo shoots all the way through to approving page layouts, but either he was genuinely interested or he was a very good actor.  _Or both,_ she thought.

He insisted on driving her home, even though she said she could catch a cab. “I don’t want you ending up dead in a back alley.” As they were walking to where he had parked he took her hand again. Layla wondered how long it would be before the simple feel of his hand in hers wouldn’t leave her heart feeling all swoopy.

When they got back to the car they paused. She didn’t want to let go of his hand, and the moment lengthened, both of them just watching each other. Layla dropped her eyes to his lips and then hurriedly looked back up at him. He leaned in slightly, and she came the rest of the way, their lips meeting gently. Layla couldn’t believe how good his lips felt. She had expected it to be different from Friday night when it was just about pleasure, and there was something ineffably new about this kiss. His lips were gentle and as they slanted against hers, she felt them open slightly and he dropped her hand so that he could cradle her face. She raised her hands to his chest, splaying her fingers against the soft leather of his coat. He kissed her tenderly, repeatedly, until he felt her breath shudder across his lips. He pulled back slightly, meeting her gaze. His pupils had widened, and the blue pools of his irises were now thin bands of color. She shivered, and not just from the cold wind that suddenly gusted down the street.

“I should get you home and out of the cold,” he whispered. He shed his jacket and held it for her to put on. She slipped her arms through the sleeves. It was too big for her, but she wiggled her fingers out the end of the sleeve and took his hand again. Neither one of them spoke when they were in the car, too many memories of what had happened the last time they were together here making it impossible to find space for anything as meaningless as words.

When they got to her building, he insisted on walking her to her door. She unlocked it, and then leaned in the open doorway, looking up at him uncertainly. She closed her eyes as Richard bent down to kiss her and Layla felt his lips close on hers and slid one arm up around his neck, the other hand cupping his jaw and letting his new beard tickle against the delicate skin of her palm. His arms slid around her waist, and one hand found a home at the small of her back, the other one slowly stroking up her spine, pressing her into him. He gently suckled her bottom lip, drawing a soft sound of pleasure. Emboldened, he touched the tip of his tongue to hers, and she parted her lips to him. They slowly explored each other’s mouths with lips and tongue and teeth. Layla tugged on his lip with her teeth, eliciting a moan that vibrated in his chest and sent ripples of sensation through her body. Richard responded by raking his teeth across her bottom lip and was rewarded with a pleading whimper. After a few minutes, he pulled back slightly, resting his forehead against hers. They were both breathing heavy, the air between them warmed by the radiant heat of their bodies and their breath.

His voice was quiet. “I have a feeling I should stop before anything else happens tonight.”

She nodded. “That would probably be best.”

“There is definitely something special connecting us, and I don’t want to ruin anything by rushing you into something new before you’re ready for it.”

“Me either.” Her voice was soft, meant just for him.

He stepped back and she slowly released him. He thought she looked the most beautiful she had all evening, with her face flushed and her lips slightly swollen from kissing. He fished his phone out of his pocket. “I need a picture of you.” She smiled, not that fake ‘trying to look sexy’ smile that so many women her age did, he noticed, but a real genuine smile. He took three or four pictures before she finally stuck her tongue out at him, and he took a picture of that too.

He laughed and put his phone in his pocket. She grabbed hers from her purse and took a snap of him too. “That way I’ll know which Richard out of all the hundreds of Richards I know is calling me.”

He laughed.

“Text me when you get home so I know you made it.”

“I will.” He thought it was sweet that she was worried about him. He opened the door, took one last look at her, and then suddenly pulled her in for one last kiss, his hand firm against the nape of her neck. After a few seconds he stepped back. “Good night, Layla.”

“Good night.”

When he got back to his car, he set one of her pictures as the background on his phone, and assigned the one of her sticking out her tongue as her contact photo, so he would see her impish grin every time she texted. He went back to looking at her smiling face, noticing the little signs that indicated she had just been kissed and kissed well. As radiant as she looked there, he couldn’t help but flash back to the look on her face as she had come undone beneath him. He was surprised by the strength of his feelings for her after such a brief period of time.  _But maybe that is what I need_ , he thought.  _Maybe, this will give me the incentive to actually make it work this time._

__


	3. Chapter 3

Three weeks of dating. Three weeks of falling asleep with his voice being the last thing she heard. Three weeks of breathless kisses and knee-melting caresses and the pure pleasure of holding his hand. They had talked about taking it further, but had agreed that with him having to go to New Zealand for two weeks, that they would wait until after he got back to take that step. Layla also wanted to assure herself that it wasn’t just a matter of availability, but also of affection. Richard didn’t deserve to be just a rebound fling.

The night before his twenty-four hour flight, Richard planned a surprise for her. The only clue he gave her was telling her not to wear heels.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this.” Layla looked around the huge room apprehensively. They were the only ones here. The man who had let them in had greeted Richard with a hug and then told him to turn the lights off when they left.

“Why not?”

She looked up at him with wide eyes. Their height difference was even more pronounced than normal because she was wearing trainers. “Who in their right mind would trust me with sharp pointy things that go fast?”

“Apparently me.”

She nodded. “Exactly! This is another point against your sanity, like wanting to be my friend.”

“I think being your friend has worked out well so far. Besides, you’re the one who said you want to learn archery so you could be an elf, so I’m not sure you have room to be judging my sanity.” He tapped her on her nose. “Just remember, aim that way.” He pointed to the targets set up at the far end of the room.

She scrunched her nose at him. “Right. I’ll try and remember that.” She put on the wrist guard and glove that he handed her and looked at them oddly. “I don’t remember Legolas wearing these.”

“Well, that’s because he’s an elf and he’s special.”

“I’m special.”

“Yes, but  _you_  are not an elf.”

“How about Merida? I’ve got the hair to be Merida.”

“Right now we’re going to focus on real world archery.” He handed her a bow.

She held it gingerly and surveyed the slightly menacing red and black contraption. “This doesn’t look like Kili’s bow.”

“That’s because  _this_  is a compound bow.”

“I want to use a dwarf bow.”

“You’re not a dwarf.”

She glared up at him in a mockery of anger. “Are you oppressing me because I’m tall?”

“It has nothing to do with your height.” He grinned. “It’s because you don’t have a beard.”

She laughed. “And did you develop a taste for bearded women during your time as Thorin?”

“No, but apparently I’ve developed a taste for gingers who babble when they are nervous.”

She blushed. “That obvious, is it?”

“Just to me.”

She fidgeted with the string of the bow. “I’m not good at things like this. I have absolutely no eye-hand coordination and I’m going to look like a bloody idiot.”

“You aren’t expected to be good at something you’ve never done before. It’s more about trying something new than becoming an expert.”

She looked up at him. “Okay, but if I accidentally shoot you, it’s your own fault for giving me a weapon.”

“Understood.”

She nodded and nervously picked up the bow and struck her best Merida pose. “How do I look?”

He smiled. “Okay, first, you’re holding the bow upside down.”

“How can you tell?”

“The wheel goes at the top.”

“Oh.” She turned it over. “ _Ooooh_ , that’s  _much_  more comfortable.”

He laughed and she pointed one leather-covered finger at him. “No laughing, Mr. I Take Archery Lessons for a Living.”

He smoothed his face into a serious expression and handed her an arrow. “Now, this,” he pointed at the end of the arrow behind the vanes, “is called the knock, and you need to line it up here,” he pointed at a marker on the string, “right below the knock marker.”

“Knock, knock.”

He shook his head. “No.”

She pouted up at him, batting her lashes and doing her best puppy dog eyes. He pointed at the bow. “Knock the arrow.”

Smiling, she followed his instructions. “See how this vane is a different color? That’s your index vane. It always faces away from the bow.”

“Knock the arrow, index vane away, okay.”

“Now, take three fingers and place them –,” he started, but was cut off by her giggling. He sighed. “And they say boys are the ones with the dirty minds.”

“I’m sorry, but if you tell me to start putting three fingers places, I’m going to get the giggles.”

“You didn’t get the giggles when I slid three fingers into you.”

Her breath caught in her throat as the memories flooded through her, and her skin somehow went hot and covered in goosebumps at the same time. He bent and whispered in her ear, “Tell me, do you use three fingers when you’re lying alone in bed at night and thinking about me?”

When she managed to get her breath back, she asked, “What makes you think that I think about you?” Her voice sounded shaky, almost as shaky as her nerves and her knees.

He gripped her chin gently and tilted her head until she was looking at him. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you’ve never thought about me when you can’t sleep. Tell me you’ve never woken twisted in your sheets from a dream of me buried deep inside your body. Tell me you don’t remember the feel of the tile under your knees and the water on your back as I finally gave in and let you suck my cock.”

She dropped the arrow and he grabbed the bow before it fell from her slackening grip. “Tell me I’m not burning in this fire alone.”

Her eyes flashed from his lips to his eyes and the hot blue flames ringing the wide pupils. She shook her head. “You’re not,” she whispered.

He took a deep breath and held it for a few seconds and then slowly blew it out across gritted teeth. “You, my sweet Layla, are addictive. Give me warning if you’re going to cut me off. I’m not sure I would survive going cold turkey.”

Her eyes narrowed in concern and she reached up to touch his face. “Is that why you think I’ve been waiting until after you go away? You think I would do that to you after what Joshua did to me?”

“That’s not what I meant. Just,” he let out another deep breath, “be honest with me about what you’re feeling. I can go as slowly as you want as long as I know we’re going together.”

She nodded. “I will. Always.” She stroked his cheek gently. “I don’t know who she was and what she lied to you about, but I will  _always_  be honest with you.”

He placed his hand over her smaller one on his cheek, and then turned his head to kiss her palm. “That obvious?”

“Just to me.”

He took another deep breath. “Okay, let’s work on your stance.”

It wasn’t long before he had her standing perpendicular to the target, feet correctly pointed and her shoulders aligned. “Okay, now bring your bow arm up.” He helped her straighten her arm. “Don’t rotate your elbow all the way out, you’ll hit your arm with the bow string like that.” His fingers slid along her skin, twisting her wrist and elbow into the proper alignment. “Okay, now knock the arrow and pull the string back with three fingers.” He wrapped his other arm around her to help her get her pull straight. “You want to bring your hand all the way back to your cheek.”

She laughed under her breath. “Oh,  _now_  I know why you were so eager to volunteer to teach me archery. This is like that part in films where he teaches her how to golf or play baseball or something so he can put his arms around her and rub against her bum.”

“That may be part of it,” he purred against her ear and she felt him step a few inches closer so he was firmly against her back. “There are certain perquisites to a date like this. Now, sight down the shaft.”

She giggled again.

She felt more than heard his laughter. “You are incorrigible.”

“How many shaft jokes can I make before I get in trouble?”

“If you start talking about shafts then I start talking about shafts and I don’t think your hands shaking will help your aim.” Again she felt him laugh, the rumble in his chest vibrating through her back.

They spent the next hour shooting until her arms started to tire and her fingers started to ache. She took the opportunity to ‘accidentally’ drop a few arrows so she could bend over and pick them up, making sure to bend from the waist and brush against him while she did it. He would always reciprocate by correcting her posture when she stood back up, placing his hand firmly on her stomach with his thumb up between her breasts. When he had her positioned properly, he would slowly drag his hand away, teasing the curve of her breast with his fingers. Their mutual tease made it difficult for Layla to concentrate on her aim, but it definitely increased their enjoyment of the evening.

When they left, Richard tugged the door to make sure it was securely locked, and then they sprinted through the rain to his car. Once they were both inside, Layla pulled Richard to her and kissed the raindrops from his lips.  “Anything I say right now is going to sound like innuendo.”

He smiled. “Say it anyway.”

“Your beard is wet. I’m getting the seat all damp. I think I need a towel.”

He brushed the raindrops from her face with both of his thumbs and pulled her in for another kiss, groaning as she opened her mouth to him and licked at his tongue. Her heart raced and she could hear it beating loud in her ears as his tongue smoothed away the rain from her jaw and her throat.  Her breath came in shallow gasps as his teeth raked over her collarbone. The rain pounded down around their car, slicking the windows and obscuring them from anyone who might be out in the downpour.

He pulled down the low neck of her tee, exposing the top of her bra. She watched him edge the cup down until her breast was exposed and he ran his tongue over the peak, the warm rough touch causing it to harden. He blew over the nub, causing the moisture to evaporate and it to pebble in the sudden chill. He sucked it back into his mouth, rolling it with his tongue. Her soft grunt of pleasure echoed in the cabin, and he scraped his teeth against the sensitive skin, pulling another moan from her throat. He reluctantly let go of her nipple, and latched his mouth onto the delicate skin above it. He sucked at the freckled flesh and she could feel the sweet pain of the tiny capillaries giving way to the heat of his mouth. He pulled back and looked at the purpling mark and then bent to it again and caressed it with his tongue. “Mine.”

He slowly pulled her bra and shirt back up and then sat back in his seat, his head falling back against the rest. “God, these next two weeks are going to be hard. In so many ways.”

She almost managed to laugh, but instead just panted out a chuckle. He rolled his head to the side so he could see her and smiled. She looked as shattered as he felt and her tongue flicked out to wet her dry lips.

He shook his head in wonderment and turned the ignition. “We need to go or I’m going to end up taking you in the backseat.”

A few minutes later, Layla ran her fingers through her damp hair, trying to squeeze out the worst of the moisture. She rubbed her wet hands against her jeans. “Next time we go shooting, I’m totally going to do a Katniss braid in my hair. I think it will help my aim.”

“I don’t see how it could hurt.”

She looked at him for a second in stunned disbelief but then dissolved into laughter. “I told you I wasn’t good at stuff like this.”

He grinned. “You got better as the night went on.”

“If by better you mean I was actually hitting the target half of the time.”

He looked over at her for a second. “Did you have fun?”

“Yeah. I did.”

He smiled, his eyes back on the road. “That’s the important part.”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

She placed her hand on his thigh. “For taking time to do something as impractical as archery lessons just because I wanted them.”

“Life should be impractical more often.”

He was walking her to her door when she said, “I got an email from Joshua. He’ll be here in five days.”

“Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah, but it’s probably a good thing you’ll be gone for the next little bit. It will give me to time to concentrate on tracking down some place to live. I heard back on that one flat I applied for, but they don’t have an opening for another two and a half weeks, and that’s too late.”

“Just stay at my place.”

“I’m not moving in with you.”

“I’m not saying move in. I’ll be gone for two weeks. It will give you the extra time you need until your flat opens up. I know you really like that one. And besides, you can housesit for me. Water the plants.

“You don’t have plants.”

“Well, bring in the mail, then.”

 _God his smile was charming. He should have tried smiling Smaug out of the mountain. It would have worked._ “You want me stay at your place so I can bring the mail in.”

“I’ll be gone and it’s not like you haven’t used the guest room before.” Unspoken were the thoughts of the night she had spent in his bed.

“If you’re sure.”

“I wouldn’t have offered otherwise. And you can move in tomorrow. I want you to feel comfortable in your surroundings, and you don’t feel that way surrounded by all of Joshua’s things.”

She opened the door to her flat. “Okay. I’ll bring your mail in.”

He worked his house key off of the ring and handed it to her.

“Won’t you need this to get in?”

He shook his head. “I know where the spare is.”

“Thank you for this.”

“One less thing for you to have to worry about.”

They stood in the doorway, both of them not wanting the moment to end. They both knew if he came in, he wouldn’t leave, and as much as both of them wanted to be together, they also knew it would make him leaving in the morning more difficult. Finally, he wrapped his hand gently around the back of her neck and pulled her to him for one last kiss. It was long and soft and made promises that he hadn’t put into words yet, but he knew she understood exactly what he was saying, and her lips replied in kind.

He finally broke away. “I’ll call you when I get in.”

She nodded. “Have fun storming the castle. Or I guess mountain, in your case.”

“I will.”

Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. She struggled to comprehend the rapidity at which the depth of her attachment to him had formed. “And no kissing dwarf women.  I may not have left a mark on your flesh, but you’re mine too.”


	4. Chapter 4

Layla grabbed her phone from off the arm of the sofa when it buzzed, hoping it would be Richard. Disappointed when she didn’t recognize the number showing on the screen, she gave in to her curiosity and answered it anyway. “Hello?”

“Is this Layla?” It was an unfamiliar voice, male with an Irish accent.

“Who is this?”

“My name’s Aidan Turner. I work with Richard.”

She sat up in a panic. “Is he okay? Did something happen?”

She heard laughter. “He’s fine. I was just wondering, and I really hope the answer to this is yes because if not it will be unbelievably awkward, are you the woman in the photo on Richard’s mobile?”

Her brow furrowed, wondering what was going on. “I don’t know. I’ve never used his phone.”

“Ginger with bright blue eyes and just-been-kissed mouth?”

She felt the flush rising in her cheeks. “Well, that’s rather forward of you, but um, yes, that’s probably me.”

She heard what sounded like a high-five and then a differently accented voice say, “Uncle Thorin’s getting some.”

“Am I on speaker phone?”

“Sorry, yes.”

Suddenly wary, she asked, “What is going on? Richard didn’t give you my number, did he?”

“Uhhhh, no.” There was laughter in the background again.

“How did you get it, then?”

“Well, he left his phone on the table when he went to costume and I sort of,” there was a pause, “ _borrowed_  it.”

“You  _stole_  his phone?” She was outraged.

“We just wanted to know who’s been making him so happy.”

“Richard’s normally happy.”

“Let’s put it this way. He’s having to work much harder to maintain the brooding displaced king on a quest aura this time.”

“And something tells me that his two wretched nephews are delighting in pestering him about it.”

“Does this mean we get to call you Auntie Layla?” the second voice asked.

“Which one are you?”

“Fili. I’m Dean O’Gorman.”

“You’re the blond one?”

“Yes.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-six.”

“And Aidan, how old are you?”

“Almost thirty.”

“Well, both of you are older than me, so I think we’ll skip the ‘Auntie’.”

Dean chimed in again. “Younger woman. Very nice.” Again she heard laughter.

“You two are reprehensible.”

“But you love us.” She couldn’t help but laugh at their good-natured antics.

“So, what’s Richard going to do to you two when he finds out you went through his phone?”

“We didn’t go through it. We didn’t read any of the texts or anything. We just looked to see who the longest phone calls were to. And they’re all to you.”

“Okay, well now that you’ve found out, you just forget about me and leave him alone. I’m not really any of your business.”

Dean broke in. “Wait. Are you watching  _The Hobbit_?”

“No.” She scrambled for the remote, knocking it into the floor in the process.

“You  _are_. You’re watching  _The Hobbit._ That’s Misty Mountains. He’s been gone four days and you’re watching him. You’re twitterpated.”

“Twitterpated? What is this,  _Bambi_?” She tried to snort derisively as she fished the remote out from under the table and paused the movie. It stopped right on his face and she practically moaned.  _Beautiful majestic man._

“So, Auntie Layla, tell us how you two met.” She wondered how a thirty-six year old man could sound so much like an eleven year old girl.

“Why don’t you ask Richard?”

“I don’t think he’d tell us.”

“Exactly. If you want any details, you have to get them out of him.”

“Awwww, that’s no fun.” She could practically hear Aidan pouting.

“If he wanted you to know, he would tell you. And even if you don’t respect his privacy, I do.”

“You’re a boring auntie.”

“Yes, well luckily for Richard, I’m not  _his_  auntie.” She couldn’t help but tease them.

“Ooooooh, that’s good.” There was knowing laughter from multiple voices. She had no idea how many people were listening to this call.

“Now go back to work or whatever it is you are going to get up to today, and stop pestering Richard.”

“Oh, he’s coming back. We’ll call you later.”

The call suddenly ended.

She shook her head. What was it they said about you don’t just marry a man, you marry his whole family? Well, she was nowhere near that step, but it looked like she had already inherited some nephews.

A few hours later as she was getting ready for bed, her phone rang again. Smiling at the picture that had popped up on her screen, she answered, “Hello, darling.”

“Hello, sweet Layla.”

His voice wrapped around her like a blanket. “How has your morning been?”

“I understand you got an interesting call.” She could hear the amusement in his voice.

She laughed. “So they fessed up?”

“Aidan asked me what my favorite song was, and when I said that trying to narrow it down to just one was difficult, he said, ‘Are you sure it’s not Eric Clapton’s “Layla”?’”

She laughed. “Did they sing it for you?”

“As a matter of fact, they did, if you could call what they did singing. It was horrendous but very enthusiastic.”

“Did you know I was named after that song?”

“Well, then, I think I have a new favorite song, as long as Aidan and Dean aren’t the ones singing it.”

“They may be pestering nuisances, but they are happy for you. They want to call me Auntie Layla.”

“And do you want to be Auntie Layla?”

“I want  _you_. If that means I have to be Auntie Layla, it’s worth it.”

He laughed. “Aidan wants me to set up a skype call so he can ‘meet’ you.”

“And what do you think about that?”

“I think that you’re mine, and I don’t want to share.”

“Now you’re starting to sound like a dragon with his horde.”

“Or a dwarf with an incomparable jewel.”

“Or like a man with—,” she stopped.

“What were you going to say?” he prompted. His voice stroked against her like a cat.

She put a hand to her cheeks, feeling emotions radiating from her skin like a desert mirage. “Something that should come from your lips and not mine.”

How was it possible that just talking to him caused this feeling in her? It was so hard to take a full breath she felt asthmatic, and a sudden heat flashed across the back of her arms and the tips of her ears.

“Those words will come. When I’m back and when you are in my arms again. Just like a jewel, they deserve the perfect setting to show them off to their best effect.”

“I don’t value style over substance.”

“You love things that are beautiful. I believe I can give you the perfect mixture of both.”

“ _You_  are perfect.”

Her phone buzzed and she looked at the screen. “I just got a message from Aidan. Apparently you are needed on set.”

“Why didn’t the bugger just come tell me himself?”

She texted the question. While she waited for an answer, she said, “I need to go to bed soon. We’re shooting a multi-page spread tomorrow on Hampstead Heath which means I shall be exhausted, fractious and burnt by the time the day is over. So I need a good night’s sleep.

Her phone buzzed again. She read the message and laughed. “Apparently he didn’t want to get any closer in case you were being romantic because he could tell by the look on your face that you were talking to me.”

“He’s never let anything stop him from yelling at me before. I think he just wants to get in your good graces.”

“And why would he want that?” She sounded confused.

He smiled. “Why any man likes to talk to a beautiful woman: In hopes that she’ll talk back.”

“Well, you have nothing to worry about because first, I’m not beautiful. Possibly pretty, sometimes cute, but I’m not beautiful; and second, you are the only one I have room in my heart for, so you don’t need to worry your pretty little head.”

Richard laughed. “I don’t worry. I know you’re mine. And someday I will make you actually see how beautiful you truly are.”

“Yes, well, I won’t hold my breath. Now go be kingly and lead your band of dwarves to victory.”

“You do know how this story ends, right?”

She laughed at the sudden concern in his voice. “Yes, and I’m sure that I will be a sobbing mess at the cinema and my nose will be as red as my hair.”

“I’ll call you tonight.”

“I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

There was a long pause, just listening to the breath of the other before they ended the call, an unspoken agreement never to say goodbye.

An eleven hour time difference meant that they were always on opposite schedules. She was falling asleep as he was starting his day, and it was only through the liminal times of transition that they had anything longer than stolen moments between shots, whether it was Peter calling for a reset of the cameras or her grabbing a moment while models changed outfits. Texts could take hours to be returned, and the shooting schedules kept getting shifted back so that even their phone calls as day became night became day again were getting cut short.

After three days of location shoots that had lasted eighteen hours from prosthetics on to prosthetics off, Richard woke in the tiny trailer that was his home away from the flat in Wellington that was his home away from his heart. He knew, now, that he should have told her before he left that he loved her. Holding back the words was physically painful, like he was choking on something lodged in his throat. And it wasn’t just that he wanted to tell her he loved her. He wanted to hear those words back from her. It was a craving that he had never felt before, this need to have her love, to hear her say those words to him, to feel those words reverberate against his mouth as he drew them from her lips with his own.

The rain rattled against the roof of his trailer and, used to the sound from so many mornings in England, it took him a moment for the significance of that syncopated rhythm to register in his brain. There was no way they could shoot in this weather. He had a morning off.

He started a cup of coffee in the French press that was one of his few on-site luxuries as he rang one of the production assistants to verify that he did indeed have a few hours off. As soon as he found that his call had been pushed back at least four hours, he rang Layla. “I need to see your face.”

“I’ve heard it’s on your phone,” she teased.

“No, I need to see you. I had Martin show me how to set up Skype on my laptop, which he twitted me about mercilessly, but it will be worth it to see you again.”

“Okay, wait a minute.”

She had already been using her laptop, reviewing proofs of the photos shot that day, so she clicked over to Skype. “What’s your name on there?”

“Thorinandlayla.”

Layla laughed. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No, Martin picked it for me and I don’t know how to change it.”

She giggled as she typed in the username. “Martin knows about me too?”

“Aidan and Dean are not necessarily the most discreet when it comes to opportunities to poke fun.”

“Well, I’ll remember that if I ever meet them.”

“You will at the premiere.”

She startled at the thought of him calmly discussing an event they would be together at six months in the future, but the words settled in her heart like a warm comforting weight, like a hand gentling a frightened child.

The call connected and she saw Richard. “Hello.” She couldn’t help the smile that broke out across her face. His answering grin caused butterflies in her stomach and a blush across her cheeks. She ended the call on her phone and set it aside.

“Hello, my sweetness.”

“Where are you?”

“In a trailer somewhere in the mountains of New Zealand.”

“How are you getting the internet way out there?”

“The benefit of all the technology on this movie. The geeks will make sure they have their internet wherever we are filming.

“Well, thank god for the geeks.”

He paused for a moment just to look at her. “You are so beautiful.”

“Tell me about New Zealand. What is it like?”

He smiled at her graceless ignoring of the compliment. “Well, right now it is very wet, which is why I have a morning off.”

“Shouldn’t you be catching up on sleep? You’ve been working such long hours lately.”

“I need you more than sleep.”

A slow smile spread across her face and she looked down at the keyboard. “I miss you so much. I knew you being gone was going to be hard, but I didn’t know it would be  _this_  hard.”

A cheeky grin teased at the corner of his mouth. “You have  _no_ idea how hard it is.”

She giggled and was about to respond when Richard looked away from the camera. “Enter.”

“We’re going to get breakfast. Come with us!”

“Oh, he’s skyping with Layla.”

She recognized the voices. Aidan and Dean.

“You’re right, the look on his face tells it.”

Her eyes widened in surprise as both of them suddenly showed up in the wildly tilting frame. They must have jumped on the bed and stolen the laptop. “Auntie Layla,” Aidan crowed. “We finally meet.”

“Hello, children.” She couldn’t help but smile at their infectious energy.

“Get out of my trailer.”

Dean laughed. “Come on, we just want to say hello.”

“Well, both of you said hello, now you can leave.”

Layla laughed. “You have two minutes to chat, and then you can go off to breakfast and leave the grownups to themselves.”

“The grown-ups? You’re the one who told us that you’re younger than we are.”

“Yes, but if you insist on calling me Auntie Layla, I’m going to act like it. So you have two minutes.”

Dean and Aidan laughed and bumped fists. “But I want to see Richard as well. So, you move the camera so I can see him.”

Dean reached out and shifted the computer and she could see Richard with a scowl on his face. “Cheer up, darling.”

Aidan elbowed Richard, “I like her.”

“Yes, I like her too. Now go away.”

Layla smiled and shook her head. “What do you two want to know?”

Dean grinned. “How did you two meet?”

“I was at a bar and he bought me a drink.”

“That’s so clichéd.”

She laughed. “I know, right? But it worked.” Her eyes flicked to Richard’s and she smiled, remembering how well that night had worked out.

“I want to photograph you.”

She looked back at Dean, her eyes widening in surprise. “What?”

“That look that you just gave Richard – I want to photograph that. You’re pretty on your own, but when you look at him, your face just transforms into Aphrodite.”

She blushed and looked down, instantly vividly aware that the off-the-shoulder blouse she was wearing exposed a considerable amount of skin, along with the strap of the lace camisole she wore under it. She tugged up the neckline. “Thank you, that’s very kind.”

“What are you all doing in here?” A strangely familiar voice asked from off-screen.

“Martin, come in,” Aidan called.

Richard closed his eyes and sighed in exasperation. “We are  _not_  re-enacting Bag End this morning in my trailer.”

“We’re talking to Layla.”

“You fucking gits, get out of here and leave Richard alone. It’s difficult to be away from your woman.”

Aidan rolled his eyes like a scolded child but grinned and shoved Dean. “Let’s go.”

Richard smiled. “Thank you,” he mouthed to Martin.

Layla heard the door swing shut behind them and Richard reclaimed the laptop. “They care about you.”

“Yes, but sometimes I wish they would care at a little bit greater distance.”

“I think it’s sweet. That you inspire such affection and care from the ones you work with.”

“Sweet isn’t a word that people normally apply to me.”

“Maybe I see a side of you that people normally don’t.”

“And what side is that?”

“Your backside?”

His laughter washed over her, filling in the hollow places that had formed since he had left. She stretched out on her side on her bed, propping her head up on one hand. “So, how many more days until I get to touch you again?”

“Six. Assuming things go according to schedule.”

“Well, let’s hope things go according to schedule. I don’t think I can last much longer than that.”

“Me either.”

With an uncharacteristic shyness, Layla quietly asked, “Does this intensity fade?”

“What intensity?”

She met his eyes. “This burning ache. This need I have to be touched by you.”

The look he gave her made her skin tingle and her toes curl. “I hope not.” His voice was deep and rough and she wondered if that was because of her or if their signal was breaking up.

“I never felt anything like this for Joshua. Even at the beginning. I’ve never felt like this for anyone.” She looked away, embarrassed of her confession. “You must think me very young and naïve.”

“You’re younger than me, but I don’t think you are naïve. If anything, you know how hard the game of love can be on one with your tender heart.”

“Is that what we are playing at? The game of love?”

“Nothing has ever felt less like a game to me than this.”

Her breath caught in her throat. After a moment she said, “The mark you gave me is gone.”

He shook his head. “You’re still mine.”

She smiled. “Are you always this possessive in relationships?”

“No. Maybe that’s why they haven’t lasted before. It was always something shallow instead of essential.”

Layla looked away from the screen, confused about how to accept the adoration in his eyes. “I get overwhelmed by you sometimes. It’s like you look at me and it’s not just that I can see how much you care for me, but I can feel it too. It’s like staring into the sun, and I have to close my eyes or look away because if I don’t, it’s going to blind me.”

“And for me, without you, everything goes dark.”

She looked at him again. “This doesn’t make sense. It’s not normal that we are like this so quickly, so intimately, essentially, intrinsically connected. It’s not right!”

“Why not?”

“Because I thought losing Joshua hurt and you were there to cushion that fall. If I lost you I honestly think my heart would break.”

“You’re not going to lose me.” His voice was like iron wrapped in velvet.

“How can you know that? You barely know me! What happens if you discover something about me that is a dealbreaker?”

“What about you is so horrific that you think it would scare me away?”

“I don’t know. Just…what if there is?”

He smiled. “Layla, close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“Trust me. Close your eyes.”

“Okay.” She could hear the quaver in her voice, and knew he could hear it too, and hated herself for being so emotionally distraught in front of him. She let her eyes fall closed.

“Now, take a deep breath and let it out.” He watched her chest rise and fall. “Good.”

“I want you to remember the night we spent together.” He paused for a few seconds. “Are you remembering it?”

She nodded.

“Think about what it felt like to fall asleep wrapped in my arms.”

He watched a smile emerge on her face, like the sun breaking over the horizon.

“Do those feel like the arms of someone who is going to let go of you?”

She shook her head slowly and whispered, “No.”

“Do you remember the feel of my kisses?”

“Yes. All sorts of kisses.” She almost giggled.

“Do any of them feel like the kisses of a man that is going to let you go?

He could hear her sudden intake of breath, and the stuttering exhale. “No.”

“Can you remember the feel of my hands on your skin?”

She could feel the heat rising in her, and that strange constriction in her chest that made it feel like she couldn’t breathe. Her mouth opened a slight bit to try and get more oxygen into her suddenly starving lungs. She nodded her head.

“Where are you remembering them?”

“On my breasts, playing with my nipples.”

“You have the most delightfully sensitive breasts. I could suck on them for hours and not get bored.”

Her breath caught in her throat and she fell onto her back, no longer able or willing to support her head.

“Maybe I’ll do that when I get back; spend a whole afternoon just playing with your breasts.” He saw her shift on the bed, and though he couldn’t see, he was fairly certain her back had just arched up off of the sheets. “Would you like that, Layla?”

She nodded.

“I want to hear you say it.”

“Yes. I want that, Richard.”

He smiled. “Where else are you remembering my hands?”

He saw the flush rise in her cheeks and her head tilt back, exposing more of her neck. “Between my legs.”

His breath turned into a groan deep in his chest as he got caught up in his own memories. “Does that make you wet? Remembering my fingers sliding over your pussy?”

She whimpered and he could tell that she was squirming on the bed. She nodded again, more of a helpless head toss then an actual agreement.

“Say it for me, Layla.”

“Yes, it gets me wet.”

“Are you wet right now?”

She bit her bottom lip and he noticed it was already inflamed with her arousal. He marveled at how responsive her body was to him.

“Yes.”

“I think when I get back, I am going to spend all afternoon playing with your breasts. I’m going to touch them and fondle and caress them and suck and bite and mark them as mine. And then, I’m going to spread your legs and I am going to touch your pussy. You’ll probably come right then, just from all the built up frustration of me having spent hours on your breasts, but when you’re done crying my name, I think I’m going to spend all evening discovering exactly how you like your pussy to be touched. I’ll start with one finger inside you, nice and slow and steady. And then after a while I’ll add another finger to see if you like two fingers better than one. Do you think you’ll like two fingers better than one, Layla?”

He could hear her breath coming in short little gasps now, and he could feel himself stiffening in response to the look of sensual abandon on her face. He dreamed of that look at night, and fantasized about it during the day. Frankly, he was grateful his costume was fairly baggy. If he’d been in something fitted, he’s not sure he would have survived.

She nodded. “Yes, Richard, two fingers.”

“Two fingers in your pussy. And then I’ll crook them just enough to rub against that spot I found that makes your whole body stiffen when I touch it. Do you remember me touching that spot, Layla?”

“Yes.” It was a whisper.

“Are you touching that spot now?”

“No.”

“Why not?” His voice pulled at her like a tide.

“Because I just want to listen to you.”

He smiled. “Do you think I can make you come with just my voice?”

“Yes.”

“I do too. You are so responsive to me that I don’t even have to touch you to make you lose control, do I?”

“No.”

“So, even when I’m on another continent, you’re still mine. My voice will still be there for you, touching you even if my hands can’t.”

“God, Richard.” Her words were coming on short little pants.

“Yes. Put your hands over your head, link them together. Remember what it felt like with me holding them there, pinning you beneath me.”

He watched as she followed his instructions, and the trust she had in him made him burn even hotter. He was hard as a rock but he was not going to make this about him. “Do you remember me holding your wrists together like that?”

“Yes.”

“Does that feel like the touch of a man that is going to let you go?”

“No.” She shook her head, almost thrashing.

“Good. Maybe I’ll have to bind your hands together with one of my ties, or do you think you could hold yourself still like that just because I told you to?”

“I’ll do what you say.”

“Good, sweet Layla. Then I’ll let you hold yourself defenseless. The sweetest bond is self-control, knowing that you are willingly making yourself vulnerable. So I’ll let you just grab the headboard. Do you remember the wrought iron bars of my headboard, Layla?”

She nodded.

“Nice thick bars, a little rough to the touch. They’ll start out cold but I imagine they’ll warm to your touch quite quickly.”

She breathed out a ‘yes.’

“I’ll have you hold on to those bars, and then I’ll slip a third finger inside you.”

She made a surprised little sound, and her already closed eyes squeezed shut even tighter.

“It will be a snug fit, Layla, to have three of my fingers in your hot, wet little cunt.”

She cried out.

“Do you remember the feel of my fingers inside you, Layla?”

“Yes,” she gasped.

“Of course, to be thorough I should go back to one finger and add my tongue to your clit.”

“Fuck!”

“Mmm, yes. Do you remember the feel of my tongue on your clit? Hot little circles on that pulsing nub of nerves?

She whined.

“I can tell that you do. And now we have to discover how you like me to suck your clit when I’m fingering you.” He couldn’t see what she was doing, but he could tell she was writhing. He imagined her, stretched out, no,  with her knees bent, heels dug into the bed to hold herself in place while her hips gyrated, squeezing her thighs together to provide some sort of pressure against her clit. Her head was thrown back and she was breathing hard.

“Do you remember the sound of you begging for me?”

“Richard.”

“That’s right, just like that. Crying my name as you pleaded for me to make you come.”

“Richard!”

“Are you close, darling?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to come?”

“Yes!”

“Remember the feel of my tongue on your clit, darling. Two fingers deep in your pussy, hitting that spot you like so much. And then I suck your clit into my mouth, darling.”

“Richard!”

“That’s right, Layla. Sucking your clit between my teeth, that little scrape you love so much.”

She cried out one more time and he watched as she bowed up off the bed, only the back of her head still in contact with the sheets. She shook once, twice, and again, and then collapsed back onto the bed, his name still echoing in her ears.

“You’re mine, Layla, and I’m not letting you go. Don’t worry.”

She turned her head to look at him, color high in her cheeks, her eyes heavy-lidded.  Her mouth was still open, pants slowly giving way to a more normal rate of breathing. “I won’t.” Another breath. “I won’t worry.”

When they finally said their goodbyes an hour later, Richard went and got in the cramped shower. The cold water did nothing to cool the fever in his veins as he played back the image of Layla losing herself to just his voice. His hand sought out his hard cock as he rested his head on his forearm against the wall of the enclosure. It didn’t take long, memories of Layla on her knees before him in his shower back home, before her name resonated in his trailer.  _Six more days. Six goddamn days._

__


	5. Chapter 5

Layla stumbled out of bed and followed her nose to the coffee maker. It had been the monthly deadline at work yesterday and she had been there until midnight shepherding all the needed changes through to the final copy. Deadline days always left her exhausted. The morning began way too early with coffee, ran on adrenaline and more caffeine, and as no one actually would eat in front of each other because god forbid you are the whale in the office in the size six, always left her hungry, cranky, and exhausted. She always took a taxi home on deadline day so she could eat something greasy and full of carbs without anyone seeing. It also meant that once she got home, she could collapse into bed as soon as she got her shoes off. Flats were her one style concession for deadline days, and she said a prayer of gratitude to Audrey Hepburn, the patron saint of ballet flat wearers everywhere, every month like clockwork.

Layla grabbed a mug off the counter with her eyes barely opened and poured herself a full cup. As she stood in the kitchen, nursing that first glorious cup of dark roast, eyes closed and letting the rich aroma awake her as much as the caffeine, she thought about Richard. The two weeks away had been difficult. More difficult that she had thought possible. More difficult than learning to walk in her first pair of Louboutins and smile at the same time. She had missed him at a cellular level, and as his days had grown even longer to cope with shooting delays and bad weather and she had run up against her monthly deadline, their contact had gotten shorter and further apart. He was supposed to be coming home  _Back!_ she corrected herself.  _He’s coming back! Not home!_ this afternoon and she was craving his voice and his touch. They had barely had any private moments at all since he had made her orgasm just by talking to her, and she knew he was going to be as sexually frustrated as she was. As she started thinking about what exactly might happen this evening, would it be fast and frantic or sweet and tender or some combination of the two or maybe one after another, a  different thought started to percolate among the slowly firing neurons in her brain.

She was drinking coffee.

And it was hot coffee.

And she did not make the coffee.

Her eyes flew open.

Richard was leaning against the kitchen counter, clad in nothing but a pair of low slung pyjama pants and a smile. “I was wondering when the caffeine would kick in.”

She put her mug down before she dropped it. “You’re back! I didn’t think you would be back until this afternoon.” Her heart was racing and her hands shook and she knew it wasn’t from the coffee.

“Apparently I can’t tell the difference between AM and PM on an itinerary.”

She laughed, and she thought her voice sounded like a stranger’s. “When did you get in?”

“About three.”

“Ah.” She looked down at her bare feet, suddenly finding them fascinating. “Where did you sleep?” she asked in a small voice. She couldn’t look at him.

“In the guest room, since my bed seemed to be occupied. You look good in my shirt, by the way.” He took another sip of his coffee, his eyes smiling at her over the rim as she looked up at him, her bottom lip caught between her teeth in embarrassment.

Layla tugged at the hem of the faded green tee. “It smells like you.”

He pushed himself off of the counter and walked over to her and tipped her face up to look at him again. His fingertips were warmer than normal against her chin from the radiant heat of the coffee. “And is that why you were sleeping in my bed? Because it smells like me?”

“Well, your bed is more comfortable than the one in the guest room.”

He raised an eyebrow at her.

She blushed and whispered, “And because it reminded me of you. Of us.”

“Did you miss me, my sweet Layla?” His face was so close that she could see the sprinkled dots of darker blue in his eyes and his voice was husky and deep and he smelled even better than his shirt. Layla could feel that tightening in the chest that meant she wasn’t breathing enough and she knew it was because her brain had shut down, overpowered by the sheer immensity of sensory input it was trying to cope with.

She nodded because it was easier than doing so something so incredibly complicated as saying yes.

He put his cup of coffee on the counter next to hers. “I missed you too.”

She couldn’t help herself; she threw her arms around him. She rested her head on his shoulder as his arms wrapped around her back, pulling her securely against his chest. She felt enveloped in his embrace. More than anything this was what she had missed. It wasn’t sex, though she was definitely looking forward to that as well; it was this feeling of total safety and adoration she felt when wrapped in his arms. She had never felt this before. Ever. Not with Joshua, not with anyone she had dated before him. This, she realized, must be what it felt like to be truly in love.

She didn’t want to let go. He was big enough that his arms completely encompassed her, one hand on her shoulder, the other on her opposite hip. She nuzzled into his neck, his scent wreathed around her like a veil, and she touched her lips to the soft skin of his throat. “I love you,” she whispered against his neck.

Without letting her go, he turned his face so he was kissing her forehead, and through gentle kisses, moved her head to where he could kiss her lips. “I love you, Layla.” He kissed her again and there was no doubting his words. He loved her with a passion that was perfectly calm and assured. He didn’t need to convince her he loved her with the force of his kisses. He didn’t beg her to love him back through sweet caresses. He loved her and she loved him and their bodies were silent witnesses and confirmation of those words. Like the woman at the well, she drank salvation from his lips and found herself reborn in his arms.

He slid his hand from her hip to her rear and picked her up without removing his mouth from hers. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he carried her, not caring where they were going as long as he didn’t let go. She didn’t even bother opening her eyes knowing he would never do anything to hurt her. She felt him sit and the soft fabric against her feet told her that they were sitting on his bed. His arms shifted her slightly on his lap, pulling her even closer to him, and she felt herself melting against him. He tugged at her shirt, or rather, his shirt that she was wearing, and she leaned back far enough to let him pull it off before she wrapped her arms around him again. As she breathed the hairs on his chest brushed against her nipples, teasing them into hard points.

He was hard between her legs, and she wanted to feel him inside her but she didn’t want to move enough to facilitate the removing of any clothing. She didn’t want to break this union. It was enough to feel him hard against her, knowing how much he wanted her at first, but as their kisses continued and she felt herself saturated in his love, she wanted to add one more level of connection. She unwrapped her legs enough to tug at the waist band of his pyjamas with one hand reluctantly removed from his hair. He noticed what she was doing and raised his hips from the bed, bracing his weight with one hand on the mattress and holding her steady with his other hand firm on her back. She pulled them down far enough to free him and gave up any extra effort as unnecessary. She slid her damp knickers over to the side and he used both hands on the curve of her arse to move her until he felt the tip of his cock pressing at her entrance. She slowly slid down, hissing at the drag of her flesh against his cock. She wasn’t very wet and it caught and burned a bit but she didn’t care. This wasn’t about pleasure, this was about bonding, and as she tightened her legs around his waist again and pulled herself flush against him, his hair tickling against her clit, she knew that they could not physically get any closer. This was it, the complete and total joining of her heart and her body with his.

“I love you,” she said again, the only justifiable reason to break from kissing him, and he said it back to her. “I love you, Layla.” And then they were kissing again, their faces the only part of their bodies that were moving. She could feel him hard within her with enough force that she probably could have taken his pulse from the throbbing, but this was what they wanted, not the ecstasy and abandon of orgasm, but the symbiotic synchronicity of their bodies together, feeding off each other, nurturing each other. Eventually they would want more, and he would fall backwards and roll with her, kick his pyjamas the rest of the way off and start to move within her, but not now. At some point in the future they would start to move against each other, and their mouths would be taken over by cries of pleasure and urgent grunts and pleading moans, but right now, it was kisses and ‘I love you’ and perfection. This moment dilated in time, like an event horizon where everything stood still and it was just them, just their touch, hearts beating together and his lips on her throat and her hands in his hair and the scent of warm skin and hotter touches insulating them from the rest of the world. There was no past. There was no future. All that could ever be was in that moment, and it was love.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has trigger warnings for domestic abuse.

Richard leaned against the door of the guest room watching Layla braid her hair. “What are you doing in here?”

She turned around at his voice and smiled. “Getting ready to go to sleep.”

“Like I said,” and he walked towards her, “what are you doing in _here_?”

She stroked a hand gently across his chest, letting the hair tickle her fingertips. “I didn’t want to assume anything.”

“You didn’t want to assume that you would be spending the night in our bed?”

She watched him arch that expressive eyebrow and had to fight the urge to trace it with her fingertip. Instead, she asked, “Our bed?”

“ _Our_ bed.”

“But, it’s your bed.”

“You want separate bedrooms? How downright Victorian of you.” He grinned at her.

She rolled her eyes as she smiled. “No, I mean, I’ll sleep with you tonight, but I move in to my new flat on Monday.”

“Oh.” He rocked back on his heels.

“You sound surprised.”

“After today, after the last few weeks, I guess I was the one making the assumption.”’

Her brow wrinkled in confusion. “You mean you want me to stay?”

“That surprises you?”

“I would just be in your way.”

He picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder and she squealed in surprise. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

She laughed. “I’ve got a nice view from here.” She pinched his bum through his pyjamas and he chuckled as he carried her into his bedroom. He placed her gently on the mattress and then stretched out on the bed, his head on the pillows. “Come here.” He patted the pillow next to the one he was resting on.

She smiled and scooted up the bed so her head was resting next to his and they were turned in facing each other. He rested his hand on her hip.

“Now, tell me why you think you would be in my way.”

“Well, I’m sure you have stuff to do.”

“Stuff.” He repeated the word like it was a foreign concept.

“Yeah, like, go to auditions. Or read scripts. Or, you know, other actor stuff.”

“Other actor stuff.”

“Yeah. Like, go swing swords around or shoot things or…stuff.”

She could tell he was trying to keep from laughing, and while he was mostly managing to keep a straight face, his eyes were sparkling.

“What? I really have no idea what you do when you’re not actually on set. I just,” and she hesitated, “I don’t want to get in the way of what you need to do.”

“You are so sweet.” He stroked a thumb against her cheek. “But you are not going to be in my way. You _are_ my way.”

“You say that now. But you can’t know that.”

He trailed his thumb along her jaw. “Are you concerned that I’ll be in your way?”

She looked at him like he was crazy. “Why would you be in my way?”

“Don’t you have stuff to do?”

She tensed. “Are you making fun of me?”

“No, but I am concerned that you think that a relationship means you trying to stay out of my way.” He twisted one of her loose curls around his finger. “I don’t want you adapting yourself out of existence. I know that you did a lot of that with Joshua and I don’t want that. If you need your own flat to guarantee that you have enough independence to be yourself, then you will have your own flat, and we’ll figure out logistics. If you want to have your own flat for any reason, then go ahead. I would prefer us to live together, but if you’re not ready for that, then I’m not going to push you. Okay?”

She nodded, not knowing what to say.

“Just know, that when we sleep under the same roof, you sleep in my arms.” He leaned in and kissed her, trying to reassure her of how much he wanted her in his life.

“Unless we’re visiting my parents.”

“What?”

“Just fair warning. Unmarried couples do not sleep in the same bed in my parents’ house.”

“So, when you and Joshua would go visit…?”

“He bunked in with my brothers.”

“Wow.”

“Red hair and the last name O’Connoll didn’t give you a clue?”

“Irish Catholic?”

“My mom actually planned on being a nun and my father a priest and then they fell in love in high school.”

“Wow.”

She giggled. “It obviously didn’t transfer to all of the children.”

He smiled at the woman lying in his bed. “I can see that.”

“If I move in here, you’re going to have to get a bigger closet.”

He blinked a few times, startled by the sudden change in topic. He wondered if he ever would get used to her mercurial train of thought. “If you move in, _we_ will get a bigger closet.”

“Can I think about it for a bit?” Her forehead creased in worry.

“Of course.”

She let out a deep sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

He was surprised at the strength of her response. “You don’t have to ask me for permission to think about things.”

“Thank you.”

“Layla, you don’t need my permission to be you.”

“This is really different for me. I don’t know how to respond. I haven’t earned this kind of consideration from you.”

“You don’t earn the right to be treated like a human being. It’s inherent.”

“I just,” she hesitated and her voice was quieter when she continued, “I don’t want to make you mad at me.”

The way she said those words hinted at hidden immensities, as if they were just the tip of an iceberg. They grated against his nerves like the sound of nails on a chalkboard. As gently as he could, he said. “Layla, what happened when Joshua got mad at you?” When she didn’t answer, he pulled her closer to him, tucking her against his side so he could have both arms around her and she could rest her head on his chest. He knew sometimes conversations like this were easier if you didn’t have to make eye contact. “Did he hit you?” He could feel her pulse fluttering under his fingers.

“Sometimes, but it was always after he had drank too much and I’d done something stupid.”

“No. No, Layla. There is absolutely no justification for him hitting you.”

“You don’t understand, though. You’ve never lived with me. You’ve never had to put up with me screwing up something important or–,” but she was cut off.

“No. Layla, there is _nothing_ you could do that would justify someone hurting you.” She had never heard him sound like this before, anger tempered like a fine sword, but used to defend her, never against her.

He could feel the shudder of a repressed sob tear through her body, and hugged her even tighter. For all his talk of nothing justifying violence, he had an incredible desire to punch Joshua in the face right now.

“When we started out together we were happy, and he was so loving and would tell me how pretty I was and he would show me off to his friends and colleagues, and he loved explaining things to me that I didn’t understand. By the end, the only time he told me I was pretty was when I screwed up something. ‘It’s a good thing you’re so pretty.’ I just wish I could know what I did that made him change.”

He stroked her hair, wishing it wasn’t braided. “Maybe he didn’t change. Maybe he convinced you that he loved you and that what he was doing was for your own good, that you deserved it. And once he had convinced you of that, then he could start letting his true self show.”

“But why would I allow him to do that? Why would I stay with someone who treated me like that if I didn’t deserve it?”

“Because part of you thinks that is what you are worth. He built you up for being pretty, while at the same time telling you that pretty isn’t important. He gives you just enough love and affection to make him seem like the best bet on the table because he’s convinced you that what you have isn’t that valuable to anyone else.”

“He’s right, though. I’m just a silly little girl who’s good at dressing up and not much else.”

The sadness and resignation in her voice tore at his heart. He was going to fix this. “Okay, sit up.”

“Um, okay.” She pushed herself up into a sitting position, and he sat up as well, and turned to face her. Once they were facing each other, legs crossed, he took her hands, and looked at her with as much love as he could show. “I’ll say this now, and I’ll say it over and over until you believe me. You’re silly. And I love that about you. You say things that are true and unexpected and hilarious and insightful. I love that conversations with you are never boring. I love that you sometimes make your fingers talk to each other.” She smiled, remembering the finger puppet show she had done one night watching a horrible movie on television. Her fingers apparently were very sarcastic movie critics.

“You’re not little. You’re perfectly sized for my arms. You fit me. But more importantly, you fit _you_. You’re strong and healthy and you take care of yourself, and it doesn’t matter how tall you are. You’re powerful. And you’re not a girl, you’re a woman. You are not good at dressing up, you’re fantastic at dressing up. You never look like anyone else. You always have your own style, and it’s always eye-catching and flattering and beautiful. You’re also _amazing_ at being naked.”

She blushed at the lust in his voice and looked down at her hands enveloped in his larger ones. He waited until she looked up at him again.

“And you’re good at other things than being pretty. You’re damn good at your job. You’re young to be in your position, aren’t you?” She nodded. “Because you’re good. You showed me the projects you worked on in the last issue and they look different and better than the other ones, and I don’t know the right terms for what you are doing, but you are _good_ at it. And you decided what you wanted to do and you went out and got it. That shows a level of determination and hard work and commitment that most people will never have. And I know you don’t believe me right now because five weeks can’t erase three years that quickly, but my goal is to make you believe me when I tell you how amazing I think you are, and hopefully, someday you will believe yourself to be that incredible.”

Richard watched as her chin started to quiver and her eyes fill with tears, but before any of them could spill, she wrenched her hands from him, scrambled off the bed and fled into the en suite, practically slamming the door behind her. He was completely baffled by this unexpected reaction to his words.

He knocked on the bathroom door. “Layla, are you okay?” He practically kicked himself. _Of course she wasn’t okay. She ran into the bathroom crying._

“Yeah, I’m fine,” was the muffled response.

“What are you doing in there?”

“Just crying.” She tried to sound nonchalant.

“That doesn’t sound like fine to me. Can I come in?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want you to see me like this.”

“I’ll keep my eyes closed.”

“Really?”

“I promise.”

“Okay, close your eyes.” Richard did as he was told and he heard the door open and felt Layla step forward and wraps her arms around his waist and rest her head against his shoulder. He could feel her damp cheek on his skin as he wrapped his arms around her and placed a kiss on top of her head. He waited patiently for her to talk.

“I’m sorry for crying.”

“You don’t need to be. I’m just curious about why. And why you felt like you had to hide from me when you did it.”

“I don’t cry pretty. My nose gets all red and runny.”

“Is that supposed to bother me?”

“Is this where I’m supposed to remind myself that you’re not Joshua again?” He didn’t say anything, but Layla looked up and saw him smiling. “Maybe I’ll just write that on your chest. ‘I am not Joshua’ in big sharpied letters. Maybe not, though. I don’t think Sharpie would taste very good.” She managed a small laugh and he chuckled. “You are not Joshua. And I’m not used to you and how open you are and giving and expressive and just _wonderful_ and I’m happy and I don’t know how to cope with all the happy and some of it leaked out my eyeballs.”

“Can I open my eyes now?”

“Yes.”

He took her face in his hands. “I love you and your leaky eyeballs, Layla.”

“And I love you Richard ‘I am not Joshua’ Armitage.” She bit playfully at his bottom lip.

“Go get in bed. I’ll turn out the lights and make sure the door is locked.”

He came back into the bedroom a minute later and turned off the overhead light. He took a few steps towards the bed and then paused, a slightly confused smile on his face. “Is that a night light?” He was looking at a white glowing oval plugged into the wall.

“Oh!” Layla clambered off the bed and grabbed it. “Sorry about that.”

“You sleep with a night light?”

“Ummmmm, yes?” She twisted her braid around her index finger. “Just when I’m by myself, though.”

“Okay.”

She was surprised by his easy acceptance. “That’s it?”

“I think you’re pretty adorable.” He grinned at her.

“Soooo not Joshua,” she muttered under her breath.

He tipped her face up to his. “You’re learning.” He kissed her softly. “Now tell me, which side of the bed do you want?”

“The side next to you.”


	7. Chapter 7

“What do you think, should I keep the beard?” He was looking at himself in the mirror and rubbing at the facial hair.

She stopped trying to get her hair to behave to consider him, her head tilted to one side. “I don’t know. You look good with it, you look good clean-shaven, you look good with a few days stubble. You just look good.”

“Well,” he turned her around so she was facing him, “you are  _no_  help at all.” He pressed against her, backing her into the counter.

“It’s your fault for being so gorgeously handsome that I can’t make up my mind.” She ruffled his beard with both hands and then laughed as it stood out in disarray. “As long as you don’t wear it like that.”

“I think I’m going to get rid of it. It grows so fast that’s it’s a pain to keep it looking well groomed. And now that they grey is showing up it just makes me look old.”

She wrinkled her nose and made a sound of disagreement. “I think a little bit of salt and pepper is sexy. It makes you look mature. Powerful. Don’t get rid of it just for that.”

A cocky smile teased at his lips as he subconsciously puffed his chest out a bit. She grinned.

“Okay, I’m going to shave it. You go do your hair and I’ll do mine and we’ll see who gets done first.”

She kissed him at length before she let him go. He playfully swatted her bum as she turned around and went back to trying to smooth her frizz into curls. He pulled an electric clipper from the drawer and plugged it in and she watched as the beard quickly gave way to short stubble. Then he got out a shaving mug and brush. “Rocking it old school,” she said and smiled at him in the mirror.

There was something amazingly intimate about watching him lather up his beard. The bathroom was humid and fragrant from their shower earlier and the hot water he was running was steaming up the mirror again. She gave up trying to do anything with her hair and just watched him. He reached for his razor and then set it down to grab a towel to wipe the mirror again so he could see what he was doing.

“Let me?”

He looked at her with surprise. “You want to—,” and he held the razor out to her.

“Do you mind?”

“No.” He handed her the razor and she took it tentatively. He stepped back from the sink and she sat on the counter and pulled him towards her with one finger hooked through his waistband. She pulled him between her legs and wriggled her hips slightly to get comfortable. She reached behind her to wet the razor in the running water. Layla wondered briefly why she had volunteered to do this, now that she was contemplating his face with a razor in her hand. _Agree to move in with him one day, slit his throat the next. My life is going to get reshelved from rom-com into the horror section._

Slowly, she stroked the razor down his cheek. The rasp of the blade down his skin was loud in the quiet of the room. She rinsed it in the hot water and then ran it down his cheek again. Slowly, surely, she left one cheek bare and then started on the second. Richard didn’t say anything, just watched her with eyes half closed as she started on his other cheek. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but then he shifted and she felt what he was thinking against the inside of her thigh. She bit back a smile.

She rinsed the razor once more.

“You’re going to have to help with me your chin so I don’t cut you.”

He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and she very carefully ran the razor over his chin, taking care not to nick any of the curves of his skin over the angled lines of his face. She could feel his breath on her hands.

“Do you realize you’re doing that?” he asked.

“Doing what?”

“Making those faces.”

She put her hand to her cheek. “What faces?”

“You’re mirroring what I’m doing.”

She laughed. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s cute.”

“So, how do I do your upper lip without cutting you?”

“Very carefully.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “That is very helpful.”

“Just pull the skin taut and you’ll be fine.”

“Maybe you should do this part.”

“I trust you.”

He helped by sucking his lip between his teeth, and she very carefully pulled the skin tight as she shaved it. “God, now I see why guys hate to shave so much.”

He ran a hand along her bare thigh. “You must shave.”

“Nooooo, I wax. Once a month, take a bunch of paracetamol beforehand, and then come home and put a pint of ice cream on my bits and eat it with a spoon. And a bottle of wine.”

His laughter echoed off the tiles. “Just get it all over with at once?”

“Pretty much. You get used to it. And I’ve been waxing for so long that the regrowth really has gotten fairly sparse.”

“I always hated having to do shirtless scenes because it meant I had to get my chest waxed. I have no idea how you deal with getting your more delicate places done.”

“It’s worth it.”

“Do you do that for you? Or was it for him?”

She blushed. “This was  _totally_  not the conversation I thought I would be having this morning. Um, but I do it for me. I go back and forth between a landing strip or completely bare, but I like a minimum of hair. It’s more…slippery.” She covered her face with her hand. “I can’t believe I’m talking about this with you.”

“It’s not like I haven’t seen it. Or touched it. Or tasted it.”

She poked him in the chest. “No getting all sexy voiced until I’m done shaving you or you’ll get my hands all shaky and I’ll end up making you bleed.”

“I’ll behave.”

“On your throat, do I go up or do I go down?”

“Go down.

She smiled at the obvious double meaning he gave the words. She hooked her heels into the back of his knees and pulled him closer, so he was nestled right up against her.

“So, do you have a preference?” she asked, as she tilted his chin up with a finger.

“For yours or in general?”

“Both.” She ran the razor down from the tip of his chin to his Adam’s apple.

He waited until she was done with the movement to answer. “In general, as long as it’s clean and well groomed, I’ve never known a man to say, ‘Sorry, I don’t like your landscaping. I think we’ll call it a night and I’m just going to go home now.’”

Layla laughed. “As long as there is access to the lady garden, you don’t care if she’s planted roses or radishes?”

He laughed as she rinsed the razor one more time. The steam from the hot water was dampening the fabric of her knickers almost as much as him pressing against her. Every time he laughed, she could feel the sound vibrating through her at every point of contact between the two of them.

“Something like that,” he replied. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard it referred to as a ‘lady garden’ though.”

She took another pass down the underside of his chin, and leaned forward to kiss the bare skin she uncovered. The movement pressed her hips forward, and she rocked against him lightly as she sat back down. She could see his throat vibrate as he hummed his enjoyment, and his hands settled on her hips.

“As for you, you do whatever you want. It’s your body. I’ll admit, the completely bare thing has always seemed a bit – porny? For lack of a better word. I’ve never understood the point to appearing pre-pubescent as an attraction thing but if it’s a sensation thing for you, keeps you ‘slippery’ then that makes sense.”

She smiled. “Yes. Wet is good.”

“I do have to say though,” he paused as she slid the razor under his jaw, “I like how you are now, with – what did you call it, a landing strip?” She nodded. “Maybe it’s the whole ‘curtain match the drapes’ thing, maybe it’s the novelty of being with a ginger, but it’s like the female equivalent of a happy trail.”

She laughed. “I like your happy trail.” She stroked the visible part of it. “I must admit I prefer you in your unwaxed state.”

“I remember watching some show on the telly when we were on the press circuit for  _Hobbit_ , and I can’t even remember what country I was in, where they were talking about trends for doing your pubic hair, and I was just baffled by the idea that there are trends for that. Like, do you sit around and compare at work or something?”

“Not my department. That’s beauty and makeup.”

His jaw dropped slightly. “Really?”

“Well, they don’t like have a fashion show or anything, but new hair removal tech, how to make it hurt less, stuff like that, yes.”

“You work in a weird industry.”

“Says the man who got paid to pretend to be a dwarf chased by invisible monsters across a hillside.”

He smiled. “Okay, we both work in weird industries.”

She swiped the razor down his jaw again, her hand on his neck to keep the skin as taut as possible.

“I remember, though, that they were showing these women getting like rhinestones and stuff glued on.  And then there was one got fur. It was hot pink. All I could think was, you just paid someone to rip out all your hair and then glue something else’s hair on. It seemed like a very painful waste of money.”

Layla started giggling.

“And then the last one was getting feathers, all sorts of crazy colored feathers. It looked like she stuck a parrot down her pants.”

She dissolved into laughter.

“Promise me, whatever else you do, no feathers.”

“I promise. Now hold still, I’m almost done.”

A few more passes with the razor blade and she pronounced herself finished. “You may want to double check, though, since I really have no idea what I am doing.”

He smiled mischievously and said, “Tilt your head back.”

She did, completely exposing her neck to him, and part of him marveled how trusting she was in him. He rubbed his cheek against her neck, first one side, and then the other. She purred like a cat getting petted. “What do you think? Did you miss a spot?”

“It feels good to me, though that doesn’t necessarily mean anything, because I pretty much turn into a big kettle of mush when you touch my neck.”

He grabbed a towel and rubbed his face with it, getting off the last traces of lather, and then reached behind her to turn off the hot water.

“I think we should take our discussion from theoretical to applied.”

“What?” She saw the gleam in his eyes. “ _Oh._ ” She traced his happy trail again with a pink lacquered fingernail and then hooked it into the waistband of his pants. “I think that’s a good idea.”

“Hold on.” He picked her up as she grabbed his shoulders and carried her into the bedroom.

“You know, I  _can_ walk, even when aroused.”

“I know, but then I would have to let go of you, and I don’t want to.”

“So possessive.”

“That’s right. Now take off your shirt.”

She smiled as she pulled off her tee and dropped it to the ground. “Bossy, too.”

“You have  _no_ idea.”

He stepped up on to the bed and knelt in one fluid movement, placing Layla on her back and pressing himself to her. His mouth fastened on her neck and she felt his teeth on her skin.

“I swear I fed you breakfast this morning.”

He nipped at her collarbone. “You’re better than bacon.”

She laughed. “That’s a very big compliment.”

Her laughter faded as he kissed his way down her body. His hands cupped her breasts, squeezing and molding them, fingers seeking out her nipples and working them into hard little tips. He bit one and tugged, and she came up off the bed, her hands clenching in his hair.

“So sensitive,” he murmured against her breast.  His hands skimmed over her rib cage as he replaced the mark that had faded while he was gone. Freckled skin was slowly replaced with purpled flesh, and he licked the mark when he finished. “Mine.”

His hands slid lower in advance of his mouth and settled on her hips while his tongue swirled around her navel. It made her giggle and he looked up at her. “Are you ticklish?”

“Absolutely not!”

He laughed deep in his chest. “I’m going to have to spend time figuring out your ticklish spots. But later.” He hooked his thumbs into the waist of her knickers and tugged them down her legs, sitting back on his knees to remove them completely. He traced the stripe of auburn curls at the apex of her thighs with a single broad fingertip. “I like this. It just invites my finger to keep going.” He slid his finger further down, slipping against her damp skin. “And then, things like this happen.” He pushed against her gently, slipping his fingertip inside her, just up to the knuckle. He stroked it in and out of her a few times, sweet and slow, and then dragged it up to her clit.

Layla felt all the air leave her in a rush as his finger found her clit. He circled it a few time and then slid back down, pushing farther into her this time. He worked his finger in and out for a minute and then went back to drawing circles on her clit. He set up a languid pace, content to let it slowly build, alternating between stroking her clit and fingering her pussy. Her hips gyrated with the motion, and her brow furrowed in concentration as her mouth parted on sweet little moans.

“Please, Richard, go faster.”

He smiled to himself and increased the pace slightly, and then next time he slipped his fingers down, he pushed two inside her and groaned as she cried out. He scissored his fingers, stretching her and her eyes flew open and met his. He smiled at her and did it again and she groaned and let her eyes close again.  _So trusting._

He couldn’t resist any longer and lowered his mouth to her clit, letting the tip of his tongue flick against the hard little nub. He felt her hips shake and he did it again and got the same reaction. _God she is sweet._  He sucked her clit into his mouth, letting the flat of his tongue lap against it repeatedly, pulsing in time with his fingers delving ever deeper inside her. She bucked her hips up against his face and he moaned against her clit, letting the deep sound vibrate through her body. She cried out and pushed harder against him.

He pressed on her stomach, thumb nestled right above her pelvic bone, fingers spread wide, to keep her anchored as he traced patterns over her clit with this tongue. He crooked his fingers inside her, seeking out that spot, and could tell he found it when he felt her body spasm. She hooked her knees over his shoulders and dug her hands into his hair. “Right… there…” He did it again and she swore as he did it a third time, pressing against the spot, the counter pressure of his hand pressing down letting him tease it even more than normal. “Fffuucck!”

He wanted to laugh from the sheer joy of making her fall apart. He sucked her clit back into his mouth and started rubbing his tongue against the underside of it, fingers and tongue moving in time, as she tried to squirm. He could feel her heels digging into his back, her nails scraping against his scalp, and her breathing turned into whining pleas of his name. She was coiled tight as a spring, and all that potential was just waiting to be unlocked so he gently tugged at her clit with his teeth and it was kinetic and frantic and sensational as she released all that energy in a series of hot wet contractions around his fingers, body shaking under his hand.

He didn’t even let her regain her breath before he pressed his cock inside her. She groaned at the invasion, still not used to how large he was but adoring the sensation of her body giving way around him. She felt claimed, and something very primal in her relished the feel of his large body over her and inside her as they moved together. He pulled almost all the way out and then pushed in again, repeating his claim on her, delving deeper inside with each slow thrust. He kissed her hard; this was not the time for tenderness or passivity, and she tasted herself on his tongue and on his lips. He was moving within her, and it always took him a minute to get fully inside, to work her open so she could accept all of him, and she lifted to him, welcoming him into the cradle of her body. He hooked his elbows under her knees and pushed her legs back, canting her hips upward towards him so he could go even deeper.

 _God, I love this position. So open, so vulnerable, so fucking deep._  Her nails dug deep into his shoulders as his cock hit her sweet spot with every thrust in and every drag out, and she opened her eyes and realized that her hips were curved up enough that she could actually watch him taking her. She suddenly understood the attraction of porn as watching him push repeatedly deeper into her and the way she spread around him sent fire through her veins. His head was thrown back and his breath was coming in deep gasps and she knew he wasn’t going to last much longer. Layla could feel his cock get even harder and broader inside her and she reached down and started circling her clit with two fingers, wanting to come with him. She grabbed his hand with her other one and Richard opened his eyes as he felt her fingers grasping madly at his. Her head was thrown back, and her tongue flicked over her lips. He looked down and saw her touching herself and about lost it, just the beauty of her pink nails against the darker swollen flesh. “God, Layla, you are so fucking amazing.”

She half-opened her eyes at his words, pupils blown wide and dark, and her fingers scratched against his hand. “I want you to come,” she pleaded. “Richard, please!”

Her words drove him over the edge and his hips transitioned from a steady beat to an erratic rhythm as he slammed into her over and over, and she felt him come undone, hot and wet and deep inside her, sending her over as well. She fell, hard and fast through star splashed darkness, the only thing anchoring her to reality the feel of his hand under hers. She opened her eyes sometime later to find him stretched out against her, placing small kisses along her neck. She slid her arms around his back and drew him to her for a sweet, slothful kiss.

“You realize that at some point,” she said, “we are going to have to actually go farther from the bed than the kitchen, right?”

He nodded. “But not today.”

She smiled back. “No, not today.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

“I’ll be right back.” Layla kissed Richard quickly and then got out of the car. He watched her as she walked into her old building to return a book she had borrowed from a neighbor. It had been a week now since he had watched her wander sleepily into the kitchen in his shirt and pour herself a cup of coffee. A week since she had told him that she loved him. A week of showers together every morning, dinner together every evening and falling asleep with her in his arms every night. It had been perfect. Almost.

She had decided to lease the flat for six months as a backup, just in case things didn’t work out between them, and while it hurt a little that she wasn’t as sure about them as he was, he was happy that she was giving them a chance. He had enjoyed watching her routines slowly emerge, like the cup of tea she made every evening that she never drank.  They were definitely going to need more closet space. He had no idea one woman could come with that many pairs of shoes and handbags and scarves and other things that he really didn’t know what they were. She was currently using the guest room as a closet, but sooner or later they would have to come to a more permanent arrangement than that. He wondered if he could knock the wall out at the back of the closet and open it into the guest room and actually turn it into a giant closet for her.

He actually had thought it was cute that she was so tentative about claiming any space for herself outside of that one room until he realized it wasn’t a personality quirk; it was a defense mechanism. He was getting a much better idea of what life with Joshua must have been like for her. Fashion had been her one indulgence, and she could justify that because of her job, but the rest of her had occupied just the outskirts, the leftover edges of Joshua’s life and Joshua’s flat. She was so careful not to make any claims on his space or his time. She went to pains to keep her forty three different hair products – and really, how could there possibly be forty three different things you  _could_ do to your hair much less  _want_ to do to it – in baskets in the bathroom cupboards instead of leaving them out where they would be more easily accessible. He’d finally convinced her yesterday that she could leave her hair dryer out, along with whatever that big poky flying saucer thing she stuck on it was. Her fashion history books were hardcopy, but everything else was digital so she could keep it on a single device. All her music was on her iPod. Even the way she sat and slept, always curled up, it was like she was trying to minimize the space she took up so she wouldn’t intrude. She was acting like a houseguest rather than an occupant, and he wasn’t sure how to help her feel more at home. He’d been surprised and excited this morning when she asked if they could take advantage of the gorgeous weather they were having and take a day-trip to the shore. She said she wanted to hear the ocean. Her actually expressing  a preference was a big step forward.

He watched as she come back out of the building and then stopped to talk to a couple who were coming up the stairs. Her smile faded and she shrank in on herself as she stood there, and that’s when he recognized the man Layla was talking to. It was Joshua. He had to force himself not to run to her, but he didn’t want her to have to face him alone.

“Hello, darling,” he said as he slipped his arm around her waist. She placed her hand over his and he could feel slight tremors in her fingers. “Who are your friends?”

“Richard, this is Joshua and his girlfriend. I’m sorry, Joshua didn’t introduce you.” She looked at the woman questioningly. Layla envied her beautiful white blonde hair that fell stick straight halfway down her back.

“I’m Lisabeth.”

“It’s nice to meet you. This is my boyfriend, Richard.”

Joshua had tensed up when Richard had put his arm around her waist, and at Layla calling Richard her boyfriend, his jaw clenched and his nostrils flared. The two men stared at each other, both of them unwilling to be the first to look away. Layla could feel the muscles in her neck knotting from stress as she watched the two men silently posture aggressively. They were both of a height, though Richard had a bigger build. Joshua had a lean, rangy frame while Richard had the broad shoulders and back of someone who had been swinging heavy swords for the last year and a half.

The women looked at each other awkwardly. “So,” Lisabeth finally said, “how do you and Joshua know each other?”

Layla’s eyes flicked to Joshua in surprise and then back to Lisabeth. “He never mentioned me?”

Joshua grabbed Lisabeth’s arm. “We really need to be going.”

“I was his girlfriend until six weeks ago,” Layla interjected. She could see the same adoration in Lisabeth’s face when she looked at Joshua that Layla remembered feeling at the beginning. The thought of letting another woman go through what she had caused bile to burn in the back of her throat.

“What?” Lisabeth looked at Joshua in shock. “Is she telling the truth?”

Joshua shook his head. “It’s not like that, baby. The relationship was practically over anyway, and she obviously was whoring around to be hooked up again so soon.”

Richard stepped forward, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “Don’t you  _ever_ say something like that about her.” Layla had never heard him growl like that before, not in real life, nor in any of his roles.

She put her arm out in front of him and was a little surprised at how easily that simple gesture restrained him. “Don’t hurt him, Richard.”

Joshua smiled smugly back at Richard. “See, she cares about me more than she cares about you. The BBC not paying enough now? Picking up a little extra cash on the side pretending to be a boyfriend for desperate women?”

She pushed back on Richard’s chest as he moved forward again, and she looked at Joshua with contempt. “Oh, shut the fuck up.”

Joshua’s fists clenched as he slowly turned to look at her, his jaw twisting in anger. “What did you say to me?”

Layla could see the familiar red creeping up his neck but she refused to back down. “I said, shut up. You’re not worth Richard’s time, and the last thing he needs is press about him punching his girlfriend’s miserable ex-boyfriend in the face, and the last thing you need right now is a broken nose. And just for your information, not only did I not meet Richard until after we broke up, I met him  _because_ we broke up. Remember when you called me and told me you were dumping me for your grad student because, and I quote, ‘she may not be as pretty as you, but at least she’s not as stupid’?” Lisabeth looked like she had been hit in the head she was so stunned. “Well, I went out to a bar that night rather than back to our cramped little flat and that’s where I met Richard. So, actually I’m glad I ran into you, Joshua, because I want to say thank you for breaking up with me. Richard is a  _massive_  upgrade compared to you. And I mean massive in  _so_  many ways.” Her eyes flickered beneath Joshua’s belt and then back up to his face and she smiled sweetly. He stepped forward with his fist raised but Richard stepped into the path of his swing and caught his hand.

Richard said something quietly to Joshua and the man glared at Richard for a few seconds before he stepped reluctantly back and Richard let his hand go. Joshua scowled at Richard who crossed his arms over his chest and watched him with ice in eyes as Layla continued to talk.

“It was so nice to meet you Lisabeth.” Her false cheeriness made Richard look at her in concern for a moment before he returned his watchful gaze to Joshua. “Just a few words of advice about living with Joshua; I picked up a few things in the two years we lived together.” She watched Lisabeth look over at him for some sign of denial, but all she saw was anger as he looked daggers at Layla. “First off, don’t disagree with him when he’s drunk. He tends to get a bit punchy. He’s nice enough not to go for the face, but bruised ribs can be so inconvenient even if they are easier to cover up.” The blood drained from Lisabeth’s face, leaving her paler than her hair. Richard looked over at Layla again, surprise on his face. All she had ever told him was that Joshua had hit her, never any specifics. He flexed his fingers as he turned back to Joshua, curling them into fists. Joshua opened his mouth like he was going to speak, but Richard stepped towards him and he shut it again.

“And you’re supposed to be pretty smart, so you probably won’t need this second piece of advice, but don’t stay stupid stuff around him, because sometimes he’ll just,” and she placed both hands on her throat, ”choke you with his bare hands until you shut up.” Richard’s eyes widened and his jaw clenched as he listened to her speak. His face contorted with contempt as he watched Joshua and he shifted forward on the balls of his feet, fighting the urge to give the man a taste of his own medicine.

“And, um, you never really know what he’s going to consider stupid so just don’t talk a lot around him, and agree with everything he says and you should be fine. Though if you need to, I do find that scarves and turtlenecks cover up strangulation marks pretty well.” Richard could hear the quaver in Layla’s voice. He knew she was doing her best to put on a brave face and be flippant about what she had endured, but he could tell that ripping open the scar tissue of her memories was flooding her with anguish.

Layla put on her best model smile. “It was  _so_  nice to meet you. Call me some time. We’ll do lunch.” She turned on her heel and strode off, her chin quivering and her hands shaking. Richard glared at Joshua and then followed after her, needing to help her feel safe again. He was impressed at how well she had handled herself, how brave she had been considering the situation and everything she had undergone. He stopped long enough to tell Lisabeth, “Get out now while you still can.” The girl had tears in her eyes but he didn’t have time to do anything else.

He had almost caught up to Layla when he heard Joshua yell, “You fucking bitch.” Richard turned just in time to see Joshua running towards her and he stepped in front of him. Layla spun around to see Joshua take a wild swing at Richard, and to see Richard block the punch with a raised forearm. And then it was as if time had slowed to a fraction of its normal rate, and she watched Richard’s fist impact Joshua’s cheek. She saw Joshua’s head snap round and the skin of his face ripple to the side under the blow. The crack of bone was loud in her ears and then a crimson spray of droplets arced through the air as Joshua collapsed to the ground. Time started again and she realized that Richard’s controlled savagery had been amazingly efficient. Not even a second had passed and Joshua was clutching his face with both hands, writhing on the ground. “You broke my nose!”

“I meant what I said,” Richard snarled at the man curled at his feet. “I’m begging you, get up and give me an excuse to hit you again.” Joshua didn’t move and Richard squatted down next to him. “If you  _ever_  come near her again, I will  _end_ you. The press will love the story of the famous actor protecting his beautiful charming girlfriend from her lying, abusive, cheating ex-boyfriend who gets his jollies by schtupping his students. They will eviscerate you in the media. By the time they are done with you, you will have lost your job and your career and your future and any hope you had of  _ever_  being anything other than a cautionary tale and a punch line. Do you understand me?”

Joshua slowly nodded, his pupils wide with fear and pain.

“Good. You should probably go to A&E about your face.” He stood and went to Layla. He reached out to take her in his arms and she flinched away from him. Startled, he stopped.

She was shaking and she wouldn’t look at him. “You have his blood on you.”

Richard looked down at his white tee and saw the red spatter across his chest.

She was hugging herself, rubbing her hand against her upper arm absentmindedly, and he could see her hands shaking. “Layla, let me help you.” He reached out to her slowly but she backed away. “Don’t touch me. Please,” she could barely talk her breathing was so shaky, “don’t touch me.”

Richard dropped his hands. “How can I help you? Tell me what to do,” he said, pitching his voice so it was low and calm. He was pretty sure she was having a panic attack, but he had absolutely no idea how to help.

“Just don’t touch me.”

“I won’t. Is there anything else I can do? Anything at all?”

She shook her head and continued to back away from him. She opened the car door and grabbed her purse. “I need to go now.” She wouldn’t look at him as she spoke.

Richard stepped towards her. “Where do you want me to take you?”

“No!” She glanced up at him and then quickly away but he saw the tears in her eyes. “I need to go. Please, just let me go. I need to go away and be alone.”

“Layla, please, let me help.”

“Just leave me alone!” Her voice broke as she screamed at him and then turned and ran down the street.

He ran his hand through his hair, stopping to squeeze his head in sheer frustration as he watched her turn a corner. He looked back at Joshua who had managed to get himself into a sitting position on the pavement. Joshua smirked at him. “Crazy bitch.”

Richard swallowed the rising surge of fury in his throat and got in his car. He needed to go find Layla and make sure she was safe more than he wanted to beat the shit out of Joshua. That could wait for another day. Getting Layla back couldn’t. 


	9. Chapter 9

Richard sat helplessly on the sofa. He had spent three hours looking for Layla this morning, first on car and then on foot, but she knew her old neighborhood better than he did and had disappeared. He rang her mobile repeatedly but after the first time it went straight to voice mail. He finally left a message. “I’m here for you. Please come home.”

He stared at the glass of red wine in his hand, wishing it was a crystal ball so he could see where she was or what she was doing. He was worried, and as the sky darkened and night began to fall, his worry deepened. All he could think of was her somewhere in the chill dark dressed for a warm sunny day, crying and utterly alone.

His eye fell on her laptop that she had left out on the window seat she had adopted as her workspace. At first he smiled realizing that she had actually left it out after she checked her email this morning, and that she had an identifiable spot now in the living room. But then he wondered if he should go through her email to find Izzy’s contact information. She’d been gone almost twelve hours now, and he was starting to get frantic. Richard had never been one to wait patiently, even at the best of times. He stood to go retrieve her laptop when he heard the front door open.

He turned towards the sound and watched as she stepped into the living room. “Layla,” he breathed out in relief. He stepped towards her and she froze, her head bobbing back just a fraction of an inch, and he stopped. Her eyes were wide and he recognized the look on her face as fear. The realization hit him as hard as a fist. She eyed him warily, as if she were a doe and he was a potential predator, and slowly walked past him into the kitchen, moving like she was afraid the wrong footfall would set off a land mine.

“I bought some potted herbs for the kitchen,” she said, and her voice was higher than normal with a slight tremor to it. He watched her from his end of the huge combined living space as she set the cloth shopping bag on the counter at the other end of the room. “I thought they might be nice for when we’re cooking dinner, and the kitchen window has great sunlight.” She took several small potted plants from the bag and set them in window atrium behind the sink where he had always left the washing up liquid and half empty packages of biscuits.

He walked towards the kitchen so he could see her better, but stayed on the other side of the counter, letting her have her space. He pulled out one of the stools and sat on it, consciously making himself look smaller. She was watching him surreptitiously as she arranged the plants and he didn’t want to seem threatening in any way. “That’s a great idea.”

A fleeting ghost of a shadow brushed across her face.

She walked back to the bag on the counter a few feet from him. “I also got a basket of cherries.” She pulled them out and pushed the container across the space towards him. “They’re in season right now and I thought you might like them.” She shook her head. “I’m not really sure why.”

“They look delicious.” He smiled at her, trying to get her to actually look at him, but all he could get were nervous glances.

“You changed your shirt.”

Richard had a sudden imagine of a submarine using radar pings to look for enemies as he listened to Layla flip from one topic to the next in a seemingly random order, but he understood that she was trying to figure out where they both were emotionally after this morning. Each little interaction was her way of determining how much danger she was in. He looked down at the navy polo shirt he had on. “I threw the other one away.”

She nodded curtly.

She started folding the shopping bag. As she fiddled with it, getting every fold perfectly straight, she said, “I ran into Lisabeth at the little café near the old building.”

“Is she okay?”

Layla nodded. “She was waiting for her brothers. They were going to help her move her stuff out.”

“You saved her a lot of pain today. You were very brave.”

“Not really. Half of the reason I told her was so you could know what he had done to me without me actually have to tell you to your face. I didn’t want to see how disappointed you must be in me.” He knew that she wasn’t just talking about what Joshua had done to her; she was explaining why she couldn’t look at him now. She was ashamed of her reaction to him as well.

“I’m not disappointed in you. You are so incredibly strong to have survived what he did to you and come through it still able to laugh and to love.” He wanted to hold her but knew she wouldn’t accept it. He  _needed_ to hold her, to feel like he was doing something. He found himself bouncing his knee under the counter where she couldn’t see it just to rid himself of some of his nervous energy.

“He’s been sleeping with her for six months.”

It seemed his opinion of Joshua could find new depths. “God, really?”

Layla nodded. “I thought it was just something that happened while they were on this trip together, but apparently not. She also told me that he has a reputation for sleeping with his female graduate students and that she actually felt very special that he had asked her to move in with him because it meant she wasn’t just a fling.” Her hands were trembling and there was a faint quiver in her bottom lip, but she was fighting to keep her voice steady and calm. She held up the folded bag. “I don’t know where to put this.”

“Anywhere you want.”

She set it back down on the counter and then picked it up again and turned it over and over in her hands. “I was her age when I started dating him. I wonder who he was cheating on when he started dating me.”

Richard sat quietly, trying to convince himself that just by sitting there and listening he was doing something.

“He’d been nicer to me towards the end. I thought it was because I’d finally fixed what I was doing wrong, but now I think it’s just because he knew he was replacing me and he just didn’t care anymore.” She gnawed on her bottom lip as she tried to mentally rewrite what she knew of her relationship with Joshua.  Her eyes were distant and focused deep within and then her face went pale and she raised a hand to her mouth in dawning awareness. “Oh god, I hope he’s been using condoms.” Her shoulders heaved and she made a mad dash for the kitchen sink before she emptied the contents of her stomach. She flipped on the water as a second wave of nausea overwhelmed her and she vomited again.

Richard gently gathered her hair back out of her face as she continued to heave but when Layla realized that he was touching her, she jerked away. She put one hand over her mouth and looked up at him with her eyes wide and watering. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’ll clean it up, I promise.” He wanted to throw up when he realized she expected to get hit.

He smiled at her gently. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll get everything sorted out together, okay?”

She nodded and she tried to smile at him but her face crumpled as she started to cry. Her shoulders shook silently and she clamped her hand over her mouth, trying to force back the tears through sheer force of will.

Richard poured Layla a glass of cold water and handed it to her. “Rinse and spit.” She did as she was told and he smiled at her. He opened the kitchen window, letting in the cool night air. “I’ll be right back.”

When he came back with cleaning supplies she was sitting on the kitchen floor, leaning against the cupboard and staring at the glass of water she held in tightly clenched hands. He sat down on the floor next to her leaving a clear space between them.

“I don’t know what to do to help you,” he finally said.

She rolled her head to the side to look at him. Her eyes were red and tear tracks glistened on her cheeks. He flashed back to sitting beside her at the bar the night he had met her and the first time she had turned to look at him. She had been sad then, but also feisty. Now, she looked sad, but also defeated. “I will never forgive myself if I gave you anything.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. What can I do right now to help?”

She traced a thumb across the abrasions adorning his knuckles. “I didn’t know you could actually do that stuff.” She looked up at him. “The fight stuff. I thought it was all choreography and stunt men and special effects.”

“A lot of it is.”

“You broke his nose without any difficulty. Or hesitation.”

“I was protecting you.”

“I know. And he deserved it. I just–,” she paused and swallowed hard, “seeing you do that so easily terrified me. With Joshua I always knew when he was working up to hit me so I could defend myself or get out of the way. And he always had more enthusiasm than aim. But with you, it was clinical and precise. I don’t know how to survive that or protect myself.”

“I would never raise my voice, much less my hand, to you, Layla.”

“I know that.” She looked at him earnestly, trying to convince him with the love in her eyes that she trusted him, even though she couldn’t make herself touch him, or let him touch her. “ _Intellectually_  I know that. Trying to convince my body of that is an entirely different matter, because right now when I look at you I see a stranger with another man’s blood on him. And my body is screaming at me to run because you could hurt me so much more than Joshua ever did. It’s like my body is stuck in fight or flight mode and I don’t know how to turn it off.”

“Have you ever talked to a counselor about what he did to you?”

She shook her head, letting her hair fall forward to cover her face. “Other than Izzy, you’re the only one who knows.”

“I’d like to be a superhero and be able to fix everything myself, but I think you should talk to a professional.”

“Probably. I’m sure I’m much prettier when I’m not getting sick all over your kitchen.”

“Layla, please look at me.”

She slowly turned so she was facing him, though she didn’t actually meet his gaze.

“I’m going to touch your face. I’m not going to hurt you. Okay?”

She hesitated a second and then nodded.

He pushed her hair back from her face, letting his thumbs brush against her cheeks, and tucked her curls behind her ears. He then tipped her face up with a gentle touch on her chin. “This isn’t about pretty. This is about healthy, and right now, you’re not. Not if you’re feeling like you’re stuck in flight or fight. That’s no way to live a life. Not the kind of life I would wish for you.” She stared at his face, trying to get this look of tender love to overwrite the memory of him hitting Joshua.

She did the closest approximation of a smile he had seen all evening. “I’ll think about it.”

He smiled.  _Stubborn girl. Though I guess you’d have to be to survive what she’s been through with any iota of happiness left._

She pushed herself to her feet. “I’m going to clean the sink now.”

“I can do that.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “You deal with enough of my damage without having to clean up my literal sick.”

He chuckled.  _There she is. A little bit of her spark._  He left her to herself, feeling that the best thing he could give her was space and time and retreated to the bedroom to make some calls.

She wandered through a few minutes later to brush her teeth and then left again without looking at him and he heard the door to the guest room shut. About forty-five minutes later he knocked on the door. She opened it and he smiled at the sight of her in a sports bra and yoga pants, cheeks flushed from exertion. “What have you been up to?”

“Yoga. Trying to relax.”

“Is it helping?”

“It keeps me from thinking about my life.”

He nodded. “I made some calls. There will be a nurse coming by tomorrow morning at eleven to do blood draws on both of us. We should get most of the results back within twenty four hours. A couple we can get back in an hour. The longest is five days.”

“How did you set that up on a Saturday night?”

A smile teased at a corner of his mouth. “I know people who know people.”

“What does that mean, Corleone?”

He grinned. “Agents are used to dealing with all sorts of issues very discreetly.”

“Ah.”

“And here.” He handed her a piece of paper. “It’s the names of three highly recommended psychiatrists and their numbers. I thought you would want to choose your own if you decide to go but at least that’s a place to start looking.”

She clenched the paper tightly in her hand and then held it against her chest. “Thank you.”

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Actually, yes.” She picked up a large box and handed it to him. “Can you get rid of this?”

“Sure.” The box was surprisingly light for its size. “Are you about ready for bed?”

She looked down at her bare feet. “Um, actually I think I’m going to sleep in here tonight.”

He nodded and called on all his training to keep a smile on his face. “Okay. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night.”

“Good night, Layla.”

He took the box out in the dining room and opened it, wondering what, out of the few things she had brought with her, she was discarding. It was filled with scarves and turtlenecks. He closed his eyes, fighting back a surge of anger that she had ever needed this collection but it was slowly replaced with peace as he realized the significance of her getting rid of them. He left the box sitting on the table and went into his bedroom to retrieve something.

He knocked on her bedroom door.

“Come in.”

He opened the door and found her curled up on the bed, braiding her hair. “I thought you might want this.” He handed her his green t-shirt and she took it from him with a genuine smile, the first of the evening. “And this.” He knelt and plugged in her nightlight. He stood and smiled at her. “I love you, Layla Jane.”

A little bit of a blush colored her cheeks, making her look more like the Layla he knew and loved than the pale, frightened creature she had been tonight. “I know.”

“You know where I am if you need anything.”


	10. Chapter 10

It had been a week now. A week since he had watched her run from him. A week since he had wondered if she was coming back. A week since she had said he terrified her. It had been a very long week of feeling like he was simultaneously domesticating a wild animal and dating his roommate.

She sang along to show-tunes when she was sad. This was not something he had known before, but over the last week, he had learned to gauge how she was feeling by what she was singing. “You’ll Never Walk Alone” had been on heavy repeat Sunday mixed with “I Dreamed a Dream,” and, to his amusement, a very sarcastic rendition of “Hard Knock Life” from Annie. She had a fairly good voice, and considering that she had earbuds in, was mostly on key.

During the week, she would curl up in her window seat with her laptop for an hour or two every evening, plug in her headphones, and escape from having to be mentally present while still physically being in his space. She didn’t sing along to every song, but he heard enough to know how she was doing. “Maybe This Time” appeared Tuesday, “Seasons of Love” showed up on Wednesday, and Thursday “Defying Gravity” debuted. He heard “Popular” once, along with a series of giggles, but it didn’t make it into the regular rotation.  

Her singing hadn’t been the only clue to how she was doing. Every night she spent less time plugged in and more time with him. Sunday night she had sat on the other end of the sofa from him. Monday night they watched a movie together and she had sat closer. Half way through an intense action sequence she grabbed his hand and didn’t let it go. She had kissed him goodnight at her bedroom door that night. It was soft and innocent and she didn’t close her eyes, but it was a step forward. Tuesday night she closed her eyes and held on to his shoulders and Wednesday she touched her tongue to his lips and invited him into her mouth.

It was like watching someone slowly wade into the freezing ocean to acclimate themselves, and as much as he wished she would just dive in, he waited for her to come to him in her own time.

Late that night, or early the next morning, he wasn’t sure which, he woke to the sound of footsteps. He rolled over just in time to see her lift the blankets and crawl in next to him. “You’re better than a nightlight.” She curled up and closed her eyes, not touching him, but next to him for the first time since they had woken Saturday last. She was gone when he woke the next morning, and when he looked in the guest room – she had left the door open – he found her back in her own bed. Thursday night she reappeared in the middle of the night, but this time she curled into his side and went to sleep with her head on his chest. Again she was gone in the morning.

They had been told their final test results – the early detection for HIV – would be in on Friday, but they hadn’t been called. Everything else had come back clean on Tuesday.  When he rang the lab, his inquiry was answered with the information that there had been a processing delay and their results wouldn’t be back until tomorrow; she left the sofa and curled up in the window seat again, and “The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow” was added to her playlist. She stayed there all evening. He kept waiting for her to come join him on the sofa, but she didn’t. She refused a glass of wine, and she actually drank her tea. She went to sleep in the guest room and he woke up Saturday morning with no visit during the night.

She was still sleeping when he checked on her and he decided that he needed something extra to make her smile this morning. He made a trip to the market, coming back with her favorite apple fritters and flowers. He wasn’t sure what kind of flowers they were, other than pretty and some shade of pink that he was sure Layla would have a specific name for. To him they were just dark pink.

When he opened the front door he heard her crying. His heart plummeted into his stomach, sending a wave of nausea back up to where it had been. He came around the corner to find her sitting on the couch, her knees pulled up to her chest, her hair hanging in her face as she rested her head on her knees. Her shoulders were shaking from the force of sobs.

The flowers and pastry got left on the table as he sank on to the couch next to her. “What’s wrong?” he asked, fearing the worst. She just said, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I promise not to make this worse for you. I’ll move out.”

“What do you mean? What happened?” He needed to hear it from her.

She had something clenched in her fist and she handed it to him. He looked at the piece of white plastic uncomprehendingly. Then the two pink lines, almost the same color as the flowers he had brought home, registered.

“You’re pregnant.”

She nodded.

“Are you sure?”

She grabbed something off of the sofa next to her and dumped it in his lap. He looked down at five more pregnancy tests. He sorted through them. Each one was positive. “You’re sure.” There was an odd note of humor in his voice.

“I’m sure.”

“How far along are you?”

“I should have started yesterday. I’m like clockwork, every fourth Friday at 10:00 am. But I didn’t. I was hoping it was just stress throwing off my schedule. But apparently not.”

“How? I mean, I know  _how,_  but I thought you were on the pill.”

“I was! I mean I am!”

“Then…”

“I got sick while you were gone. It was strep and they gave me antibiotics but I was done with them by the time you got back so I didn’t think it would matter. God, I am so stupid!” She clenched her hands in her hair in frustration.

“You’re not stupid.”

She gave him a disparaging look. “I think managing to get pregnant while on the pill qualifies as stupid.” She stood up and started pacing the room.

“Layla, you’re  _not_ stupid. It might not have been the antibiotics. No form of birth control is 100% effective. It could have just been a fluke.”

She continued on as if he hadn’t even spoken. “Oh god, my mother is going to die. No, first she’ll cry a lot and then she’ll tell me how she always knew that me moving to London and not marrying Thomas Fisher when he asked was the beginning of my downfall, and then she’ll tell me I’ve broken her heart, and  _then_ she’ll die.”

“Layla,” he started but she kept on talking.

“And then my dad will ask if this means Joshua and I are getting married now and I’ll have to say no, Joshua and I broke up six weeks ago, and then he’ll want to know who the father is and I’ll say, ‘guess what dad, I have a new boyfriend and he got me pregnant. Meet Richard!’ And I’m sure that will go over well. Welcome to the family Richard, father of bastards, defiler of the innocent.”

Layla.” He tried again.

“Of course, that’s assuming that you’re actually still there because heaven knows I would have run for the hills by now, so I guess I should start planning the whole unwed mother speech. Maybe I can convince them it was a miracle. An angel visited me in the middle of the night.”

“Layla!”

She finally heard him. “What?” she asked in exasperation.

“I’ve done a lot of things in the middle of the night with you, but impersonate an angel isn’t one of them.” His laughter caught her off guard.

“ _That’s_  what you choose to focus on?”

“Come here.” He held out his hand and she walked over to him and actually took it. “Can we go back to the beginning of this conversation?”

“To which point?”

“The point where I realized you were pregnant.”

“Okay.”

“I’m thrilled.”

“That we can go back to the beginning of the conversation?

“That you’re pregnant.”

She collapsed onto the sofa next to him and looked at him in complete confusion. “You are?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” She sounded like she thought this was the most ridiculous thing anyone had ever said in the history of ever.

“Because I love you and I never want to lose you and I can’t imagine my future without you and maybe our timing is a bit untraditional but the idea that you are pregnant with my child makes me love you even more.”

“You are crazy.”

“What about that is crazy?”

“I met you  _six weeks_  ago. Six weeks and two days. And I was so drunk that the next morning I had no idea where I was when I woke up. And then day two we went out to dinner and had crazy amazing sex. And then day three we had more crazy amazing sex. And then day four you showed up at my house with a vase and asked me out on a date. Which is completely backwards from how it’s supposed to work. And I said yes. Because hello, look at you, and then after you look at yourself you should listen to yourself because you say things that makes it impossible to resist falling madly and completely in love with you. And then we dated for three weeks and then you went to New Zealand and I moved in to your house and you were gone for two weeks and it was supposed to be housesitting but I fell in love with you long-distance, which is also backwards; you’re supposed to like, be in love for a while before you move in, and then you came home and we had one perfect week and then we’ve had this total shite week where I’m scared of you and am teaching myself to trust you again, and that actually adds up to seven weeks so I’ve known you for seven weeks and two days and between New Zealand and Joshua three of those don’t really count so basically I’ve known you for a month and the way they calculate pregnancies I’m a month along so basically it’s like medically I’ve been pregnant the whole time I’ve known you, which gives this whole thing a sort of karmic inevitability like I ovulated when you said, ‘I love you’ for the first time but that’s just stupid and fate isn’t real and you’re laughing. Why are you laughing?”

“Because I  _adore_  you. And deep in that narrative of insanity you’ve been telling yourself, do you know what I keep hearing?”

“What?”

“That we have fallen in love with each other.” He took her face in his hands, rejoicing that she was letting him touch her again, even if it had taken this big of a shock to do it. “This isn’t a disaster and it’s not crazy or fate or karmic inevitability. You’re having a child with the man that you love. It’s the most normal and simultaneously the most sublimely perfect thing that can happen to two people.”

“My parents are going to freak out. I don’t think that going from shacked-up old maid to shacked-up unwed mother is going to be a huge improvement in their eyes.”

“Then marry me.”

Her eyes got huge and she pulled back from his hands. “No!”

“Why not?”

“Well, because Vera Wang doesn’t make maternity wedding gowns, first off.”

He laughed. “That’s your major objection?”

“Well, no, but I’m serious about that. I’ve been dreaming of my wedding since I was a little girl and it did not involve me being hugely pregnant.”

“So we get married soon. Before you start to show.”

“Weddings take time to plan.”

“Not all weddings.”

“The kind of wedding I want does. I am going to be a princess just for one day. Not like Cinderella princess or anything – I don’t want a dress that makes me look like a meringue pie – but like Katey Cambridge princess. I want something special and grand and amazing flowers and dancing and,” she shook her head. “Not a rush job because I got pregnant.”

“I have enough money that fast can still be amazing.”

“No. This isn’t what I dreamed of. Not you marrying me out of obligation, not picking a date based on when I’m going to start showing. Maybe I have to surrender the princess wedding dream, but I want a proposal based on love and desire, not necessity and parental appeasement.”

“So we don’t get married right now. The most important question is if you are happy.”

“My parents are going to freak out and I’ve just screwed up your life and,” she paused as he put his fingers against her lips.

“Stop. First off, this is no way screws up my life, okay?”

She nodded slowly, and it was obvious she didn’t completely believe him. He would have to work on that.

“Secondly, are  _you_  happy? Do you want to keep the pregnancy?”

“Are you asking if I want an abortion?”

“Yes. You don’t have to stay pregnant if you don’t want to.”

“I’m not having an abortion. I’ve always wanted to have a child. This just isn’t how I pictured it happening.”

“Okay, so, are you happy? When you’re not thinking about your parents and how they are going to react, you are just thinking about you and me having a child together, are you happy?”

“You’re really not mad at me about getting us into this mess?”

“No. I’m not. Untraditional timing aside, I couldn’t imagine anything that would make me happier than to have a child with you.”

“You’re weird.”

“Yes, but are you happy?” He spaced out the last three words, emphasizing each of them.

She paused for a moment as she thought, twirling her hair around a finger. Finally she said, “Yes. Freaking out, but now that I know you’re okay with it, I’m definitely happy.” She smiled at him, a smile that actually reached her eyes. “I’m going to have a baby.”

“Just think. It’s an excuse to buy an entire new wardrobe.”

“Oh my god, I’m going to have to wear maternity clothes. Does Donna Karan even make a maternity line?”

He laughed. “I don’t know. But you now have column ideas for the next nine months. Shopping and style advice for the pregnant fashionista. You could even get pregnant models.”

“You are bizarrely okay with this.”

He looked down at the pile of pregnancy tests in his lap. Finally he said, “It’s not the first time I’ve gone through an unplanned pregnancy.”

Layla was stunned. “What?”

“When I was younger my girlfriend got pregnant. Condom broke, oops, there she was two weeks later with a positive pregnancy test in her hand. She was nervous about telling me, but begged me to be happy. I was twenty five at the time, barely out of LAMDA, and terrified of being a father but we decided we were going to keep the child. She moved in with me, and I stopped acting so I could get a steady job.” It was his turn to stand up and start pacing the room.

“Watching her deliver that child was one of the most amazing things I’ve ever seen, just the strength that she possessed. But then the baby was born and it very obviously was not my child. She’d been cheating on me off and on with a guy and found out she was pregnant so that night she tampered with the condom when she put it on to make sure it would break. She wasn’t sure who the father was, but she figured I was the better option. I had her call the other guy from the hospital and tell him he was a father. I felt like he needed to know that he had a son. He walked in and fell in love with that child from the moment he laid his eyes on him. So I kissed the baby goodbye and left.”

He turned to face her. “I realized that day that I really did want to be a father. I just wanted someone honest to be its mother. It’s one of the things that made me fall in love with you so quickly. Your completely transparent personality. You say everything and anything that you’re thinking and I don’t think you could lie if you tried. Everything is upfront and honest with you.”

She was still absorbing everything he had said. “I guess every cracked pot really does have its lid.”

“It’s been easy to say that the reason I didn’t have a girlfriend was because I was so busy working that I didn’t have time for a relationship. The truth is I could never find someone that I felt was worth risking my heart over again. It was like losing a child and a girlfriend at the same time. We had gone through that whole process together and picked out clothes and a name and I had built a cradle. I had all these plans for being a father and what I was going to do with my son, and they all were gone. Just like that. So I put that part of me on the shelf and focused on my work. But then I ran into this amazing creature in a bar one night who told me I wasn’t pretty, called me a jerk, and asked me if I was any good in bed. And then when I was tucking her into bed that night told me that she hoped she could find a man one day who would look at her the way I looked at Margaret. I realized then that combined with the sarcastic fireball there was a true romantic.”

“I don’t remember saying that.”

“I’m not surprised. You also tried to put your head through the sleeve of the shirt.”

Her brow raised in unbelief. “Really?”

He nodded, a grin sneaking back onto his face. “I was going to let you sleep in your clothes and just undo the zipper so you’d be a bit more comfortable, but according to you, one does not sleep in Prada.”

“Wow.” She giggled. The sound melted the icy hand that had gripped his heart for the last week. “I’m amazed that this is what got you interested in bedding me.” She paused and he could see her trying to remember something. “Wait, I wasn’t wearing Prada.”

“Well, drunk you doesn’t know her labels as well as sober you. And honestly, I thought bedding you would get you out of my system. It’s always worked in the past.”

“What was different this time?”

“You. Your body is as honest as your mouth, and the more I knew of both, the more I wanted them.”

She walked over to him and slid her arms around his waist. Looking up at him, she said. “This baby is yours, I swear.”

He wrapped his arms around her. “I know. I never even doubted for a minute that it wasn’t.” He hugged her tighter and rested his chin on top of her head. She was back where she belonged, in his arms. “I do have one question though. Why six pregnancy tests? I can understand two, but six?”

“Girl code. There are two failsafe ways to make your late period start. First, wear your most expensive frilly white lace knickers and the second is buying a pregnancy test. I figured if one was good, six was better. And then after the first one was positive, I had to double-check. And then I double-checked the double-check and I ended up using all of them.”

He smiled against her hair. “What else is in the girl code?”

“Stick with me long enough and I’m sure you’ll find out.”

“I plan on it.”


	11. Chapter 11

Layla was reviewing photo proofs Tuesday afternoon when one of the interns stopped at her desk with a folded piece of paper. “A gentleman just dropped this off at the front desk for you. He said it was urgent.”

She flipped open the paper and read the words. “I need to see you. Didn’t want to cause a fuss by coming in to the office. Meet me in the stairwell. Richard.”

She smiled and folded the paper closed and tucked it in her desk drawer. Wondering why he hadn’t just texted her, she told the assistant she’d be back in fifteen minutes and hurried down the hall to the stairwell. As she stepped through the heavy metal door, a hand closed over her mouth and yanked her inside. The door slammed shut with a heavy thud of finality as Joshua wrenched her around so she was facing him. She tried to scream but he shoved a rag in her mouth, ramming it in deep with his fingers and making her gag as it hit her throat. He pushed her against the door, her head ricocheting off the metal and leaving her dazed as he grabbed her hands and tied them behind her back with a zip cord. He rammed her back up against the wall and pressed his body against her.

“It’s just you and me now, Layla. No big man to keep you safe,” he purred against her cheek. He looked rabid. Even at his worst he had never appeared this angry, and there was no smell of alcohol on him. That he was doing this completely sober terrified her.

She tried kicking him but she couldn’t get enough leverage to do significant damage. He gently stroked her throat and then wrapped his fingers around it and squeezed mercilessly, cutting off the airflow. “You should know better than to fight, Layla. You know it just means I have to hit you harder.” She gagged on the cloth, fighting for air as he watched her struggle, a small smile on his face. He had never showed enjoyment before, but now, she could see it in his eyes, in his smile, in his growing hardness shoved up against her body.

“I told you what would happen to you if you ever told anyone, didn’t I?” He breathed against her face. “I told you I would mess up your pretty face. Your one redeeming feature and I would cut it up, didn’t I?”

He slapped her hard across the face, splitting her lip. “I always left your face alone before, but now, you told Lisabeth. And you know what that little bitch did?” He let go of her throat, but her desperate gasp for air to fill her burning lungs was cut short by a vicious blow to her face, splitting open the skin above her eye. His hand closed around her throat again as blood dripped from her brow. “She emailed my entire department. Faculty and students.”  She could feel tears sliding down her cheeks, mingling with blood. Her one hope was the security camera. She refused to look at it, not wanting to alert Joshua to its presence, but she just prayed that the security guard was paying attention at his desk seventeen floors below.

“I’m going up before a disciplinary board. Several other students responded to the email saying that I had offered them grade increases for sex. Lisabeth is going to get me fired. And do you know whose fault that is?” He punched her again. “It’s yours.” He grabbed her by the hair and slammed her head back into the door. Her vision blurred and spots danced in front of her eyes. “If you had just kept your mouth shut none of this would have happened.” He watched her sway on her feet and laughed.

“You’re such a stupid little bitch to think you would get away with telling our secret.” He yanked her over to the head of the stairs. “You know what, I think you’re so stupid, you can’t even walk down stairs by yourself. Let’s see.” He pushed her and she fell. The scream resonated in her throat as she fought for balance, having no way to catch herself as she tumbled and landed hard, and she rolled down the rest of the stairs, barely managing to curl in enough to keep from hitting her head again. She groaned as she hit the landing. Every nerve in her body was screaming and she could feel her heart pounding in her ears. She was having problems seeing from her left eye, but she could hear him slowly walking down the stairs to her.

“I was right. So incredibly stupid. And now your face is all ugly too. You’re worthless now, Layla, just a worthless piece of shit. You’ve ruined my life. Now I’ve ruined yours.”

She felt him pick her head up by her hair. “You should have listened when I told you to be quiet,” he hissed, spittle dampening her cheek. “But you were never good at knowing when to shut up. Well maybe I can help you with that.” He smashed her head against the step. She felt herself falling over the first big drop of a roller coaster, plummeting into darkness, the sound of her scream being replaced by the call of the security guard.

*

The dark was fuzzy. She had never thought of the dark as being fuzzy before but it was definitely fuzzy. Like the skin of a peach. Or the skin right above Richard’s navel. She missed Richard’s skin. Maybe she could find Richard. But it was so dark.

She tried to open her eyes but it took so much effort. They didn’t seem to want to open the whole way, but as she managed to slowly convince them to cooperate, she saw Richard sitting next to her and realized he was holding her hand. The quiet beep of mechanical voices formed a soothing backdrop to the much less fuzzy light.

“You’re awake.” He sounded like he had been crying.

“What happened? Where am I?”

“You’re in hospital. Joshua attacked you.”

Images started filtering back slowly, like they were fighting their way through honey. “How bad?”

“Nothing’s broken. But you have several stitches, and lots of bruises and abrasions. And probably a concussion.”

“Is that why everything’s so fuzzy?”

“I’ll go tell the nurse she’s awake.” Layla turned her head with difficulty towards the voice.

“Izzy, what are you doing here?”

“Taking care of you, girl. I badgered the ambulance people to let me ride with you. Told them I was your sister.”

“They believed that?”

Izzy, grinned, her dark eyes flashing against her golden-brown skin. “I told them I was adopted.”

Layla tried to smile, but it hurt her lip. When Izzy left, she turned back to Richard. “How bad do I look?”

“You’re alive and that’s what matters.”

“That bad, huh?”

“You’ll heal.”

“Show me.”

“No.”

“Please, get me a mirror. I need to see.”

“You need to rest.”

Izzy walked back in and Layla turned to her. “I need your mirror.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Please, Izzy, I need to know how bad it is.”

Izzy reluctantly fished a compact out of her purse, opened it and handed it to Layla. The IV cord dragged on her arm as she lifted it. She gasped as she saw her face. Stitches laced across her brow above her left eye. Blood vessels in the eye had burst, and the white of the eye was crimson. The surrounding flesh was purple and yellow. Her lip was split and her other eye was sporting impressive bruising of its own. Two other cuts were held together with butterfly bandages, one on her jaw, the other on her temple. She tenderly felt the sore spots in her head and found three other places where the hair had been shaved and stitches held her scalp together. Her neck bore the bruised imprint of Joshua’s hand. Her arms and legs sported bruises and abrasions but nothing as bad as what was on her face. She was staring at the damage in disbelief when the doctor entered the room.

“Ms. O’Connoll, I see you’re surveying your injuries. Do you have any questions or should I give you the clinical rundown first?”

“Did I lose the baby?”

“The baby?” Izzy said in surprise.

“We don’t know yet. You’re too early for an ultrasound to tell us anything. We drew a blood sample to check HcG levels, and we’ll do another one tomorrow. If they are still heading up a good rate, then it’s a good sign.”

She nodded. “Will the pain meds I’m on hurt the baby?”

“There is a minimal chance they would affect the foetus. And honestly, the amount of pain you are in right now in a non-medicated state would have a greater risk to the foetus than taking the medication we’re giving you.”

“So how long do I have to stay?”

“We’re going to keep you overnight for observation. You have a pretty nasty concussion, and we want to make sure it isn’t going to cause any more complications.”

“As long as Richard can stay with me.”

“We don’t normally allow overnight guests except in the maternity wing.”

“He stays or I go home AMA.”

The doctor sighed. “Fine. We want you to feel comfortable here.”

“How bad…how badly am I going to scar?”

The doctor smiled. “You were lucky. We had a cosmetic surgeon just finishing an operation when they brought you into A&E. He came down and did the stitching himself. The scarring should be minimal, and he’ll come check on you later to answer any other questions you might have.” He checked her vitals, her pupillary dilation and asked for a pain number for her chart, and then left.

She turned to Richard. “I guess I should ask you if you want to stay.”

“Of course. I’m not leaving you alone. Not while he’s still out there.”

Her eyes widened in fear. “They didn’t catch him?”

Izzy shook her head. “He punched the security guard and ran. Everything is on the tape though, so as soon as they find him he’s getting locked up for good.”

“There’s a pub in Chelsea he likes. It’s by the stadium. I can’t remember the name but it has a red bull on the sign.”

“I’ll call the police and give them that information.” She left the room again.

She turned to Richard. “How did you find me?”

“Izzy grabbed your purse on her way to the ambulance and called me on your mobile.”

“I’m sorry I messed up your afternoon,” she said, squeezing his hand.

He shook his head. “You are not the one who needs to apologize for anything.”

“Someone should warn Lisabeth. I think he’s going to go after her next.”

“We already told the police about her. They’ll take care of her. You just take care of you.”

“Will you come up here and hold me?” He could barely hear her request her voice was so quiet.

He lowered the side of the hospital bed and climbed on with her. It was an awkward fit, but he stretched out on his back and she curled into his side, her arm with the IV in it resting on his chest. It took her several tries to find a minimally painful position for her head, but finally she did. The fuzzy darkness called out to her, and she answered gratefully.

“She’s pregnant?” Izzy asked Richard, when Layla was sound asleep.

“We found out Saturday.” He kissed the top of Layla’s head gently after searching out a place free from stitches and bruising.

“You really love her, don’t you?”

Richard looked up at Izzy, surprised. “Of course.”

“Good. She deserves someone to care for her after all the shit she’s gone through.”

“I honestly think I could kill Joshua with my bare hands right now.”

“That won’t help her.”

“I know. It’s the only reason I won’t. I’m not leaving her side until he’s found, though.”

Izzy reclined in the chair in the corner, watching the two of them together. “She’s been happier the last month than I’ve seen her in years. Just keep doing what you’ve been doing and she’ll be fine.”

“How long have you two known each other?”

“Four and a half years now. We started work at roughly the same time. We were in the same department then and we became instant best friends.”

“Why did she stay with him?” Richard still couldn’t understand what had made her stay with a man who had abused her.

Izzy shook her head. “Joshua was wonderful at first. It’s not like he hit her on the first date. He was romantic and funny and interesting and I really liked him. He thought she was beautiful and loved showing her off. They got in a fight after they had been living together for a few months and he hit her. And he was so apologetic, and it’s just the standard story. A combination of ‘I promise I’ll never do it again’ with ‘if you would just do what you’re supposed to, none of this would have happened.’ Layla’s all sarcasm and snark on the outside, but she feels things very deeply, and one of the things about her is that she’s so honest, that she believes everything anyone tells her. And Joshua used that to convince her that it was her fault, and she deserved it, and if she would just do things right, it wouldn’t happen.  She didn’t even tell me anything was happening until about nine months ago when I hugged her and she winced from the pain. I made her show me the bruises. I actually have pictures if the police need them. I couldn’t talk her into leaving him, but at least I documented what he did for when she finally decided to leave.”

“She’s never going to have to go through that again. I’ll make sure of it.”

Izzy raised a brow at the ferocity in Richard’s voice. “Layla doesn’t need you to fight Joshua for her. She needs someone who loves her for all of her, and not just as a tool to make themselves look good. She’s a human, not a trophy.”

“I love her, Izzy. I started falling for her the night I met her, when she told me I was a jerk and then spent the rest of the evening calling me Thorin. She’s like no one I have ever met, and the last thing I would do is try and turn her into someone else.”

Izzy took a deep breath and let it out again. “Okay. I’ve been worried about how quickly you two are moving, and knowing that she’s pregnant after just a few weeks doesn’t help. But you seem different than what I had expected. More real, less celebrity asshat.”

He huffed out a laugh, careful not to disturb Layla’s sleep. “I try.”

“You’re going to spend the night here with her?”

He nodded.

“Do you want me to go get clothes for her to go home in tomorrow? Something more comfortable to sleep in for you?”

“That’s really thoughtful of you.”

“She needs you here more than me, so I can take care of all the stuff out there. I’ll tell the editor she’s out for the rest of the week recuperating. She was there when Layla was loaded in the ambulance. She’ll understand. And I’ll make sure I grab Layla’s biggest pair of sunglasses. Is there anything else I should get?”

“Her lotion from the bathroom. It’s in a square bottle and pink. And she’ll want to braid her hair tonight, so something to tie it with when it’s done.”

Izzy smiled.

“Oh, and her iPod. I’m not sure how much she’s going to be able to read or watch television with her eyes like this, but she can listen to music.”

“Will do. You’re a good man.”

She picked up Layla’s purse and her own and was about to leave when an older couple bustled through the door. “OOOOooooh, my poor baby,” the woman wailed.

Layla startled awake at the sudden noise. “Mum what are you doing here?” Her voice was groggy.

“What do you mean ‘what am I doing here?’ I’m here to take care of my little girl, of course.”

“Mum, that’s what the doctors are for.”

“As if any doctor could take better care of you than your own mother.”

“They have morphine and you don’t, mother.”

She sniffed. “This is no time for any of your snippiness, young lady. I told you that moving to London was a mistake, and now look at you.”

“Mother can you please be quieter. You’re making my head hurt even worse.”

“Oh of course,” she cooed. “I’m sorry.” She looked at Richard and then meaningfully back at Layla. “Well, are you going to introduce us to the gentleman in your bed?”

Layla put her head back down on Richard’s chest and closed her eyes. This was so not going to go well. “Mum and Dad, this is Richard. Richard, this is my mum and dad.”

“I wish we were meeting under different circumstances,” Richard said.

“And how do you know my daughter, Richard?” her father asked.

“Biblically,” Layla muttered. She heard the shocked gasps from both her parents and a choked laugh from Izzy. She felt Richard’s chest move under her cheek, but she couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

“Layla! What about Joshua? Are you sleeping around on him? Where is Joshua?”

“Joshua is the person who did this to her, Mrs. O’Connoll.” Richard spoke softly, not wanting to hurt Layla’s head any more than it already was.

“No! He was such a nice man. I don’t believe you.”

“Believe it,” Izzy said, eyeing the woman disdainfully. “He’s been doing this for almost two years, and I’ve got pictures to prove it.”

“Well surely,” Layla’s mother started, “there must be some reason.”

“Were you cheating on him?” Layla’s father asked.

“Nope, okay, that’s enough.” Richard growled. He softly kissed Layla on the forehead. “I’ll be right back, okay?” His eyes searched her face, reassuring her and finding reassurance for himself simultaneously as she reached up and stroked his cheek. “Okay.”

He carefully extricated himself from the bed and then said, “Mr. and Mrs. O’Connoll, let’s go continue this conversation out in the hallway so Layla can rest. Can you stay with her, Izzy?”

Izzy nodded and fought back a smile. “Of course.”

Layla watched as Richard almost bodily escorted her parents from the room and then turned on Izzy. “You called my parents?”

“I was scared. I’ve never seen that much blood before and I didn’t know what was happening so I called them.”

She shook her head ruefully. “I forgive you. And I guess this way Richard can decide now if he wants to run screaming into the hills.”

“That man doesn’t run screaming from anything, girl. I don’t know if God is just paying you back for the hell you’ve gone through, but the way he looks at you? Damn. I’d fight you for him if he wasn’t so obviously in love with you.”

“It’s obvious?” She tried to smile but again, found it too painful.

Izzy laughed. “He’s facing down your mother when she’s in full Mrs. Bennett mode. It doesn’t get much more in love than that. Does he have any brothers?”

“No, but he’s got some nephews.”


	12. Chapter 12

Izzy pushed the hospital room door open and awkwardly shoved through, her arms full of bags. She dumped the stuff on the floor before looking up to see Layla resting her head on Richard’s shoulder in a wider bed than had been there when she left.

“Excellent. I see my flirting has paid off already.”

“What?” Layla couldn’t decide if she was confused because it was Izzy or because the meds were making her dopey.

“I remembered visiting my niece in the hospital when she broke her leg, and a lot of the peds wards have double-wide beds so the parents can lay down with their kids. It helps them stay calmer and recover faster. So on my way out I stopped in pediatrics and they have those here so I found a cute doctor and flirted with him and told him your story and wouldn’t it be nice if blah blah blah. So now you have a bigger bed and I have a date for Saturday.”

Layla snickered. “Izzy, remind me never to get on your bad side.”

“I am rather fabulous, aren’t I?” She reached down and grabbed one of the bags. “Okay, I have pillows, because hospital pillows suck.” She threw two pillows on the bed. Layla recognized them.

“Are those the pillows from our bed?”

Richard smiled to himself as she called it ‘our’ bed. A lot of things had changed in two weeks.

Izzy nodded. “I told Richard I would go grab you some things you two might need if you were both going to be here.” She reached into the bag again. “A comfy blanket, because hospital blankets suck.” This got dumped on the bed as well. “Fuzzy socks, just because. Everything is improved by fuzzy socks.” The purple striped socks got tossed on the bed.

She picked up another bag and looked in it. “Clothes for Layla for tomorrow. Extra pair of knickers – I’m not sure what state yours are in or if you even have any on. I think they kept the rest of your clothes for evidence, which sucks because I really liked the skirt you had on today.”

“It’s not like I would have worn it again anyway, Izz.”

“Yeah, that’s true.” She went back to poking around in the bag. “Biggest sunglasses I could find and your iPod.” She picked up the third bag. “Pyjamas for Richard and clothes for tomorrow. Also, both of your laptops.” She set the bag down gently. “And last but not least, toiletries. Layla, you have more stuff than any girl I have ever seen, so I just grabbed what I thought would get you through the next twenty-four hours. Toothbrushes for both of you, shampoo, your widest tooth comb, some hair ties. I didn’t pack a razor because you don’t need one and I know you think his stubble is sexy.”

Richard chuckled and Layla gasped in mock horror at her words. “You just broke the sleepover code!” Izzy started laughing.

“The sleepover code? Is that like the girl code?” Richard asked.

“It’s a subsection. Things that get said at sleepovers don’t get repeated outside of the sleepover.”

“So it’s the girl version of Fight Club, then.”

“Sure. I’m not really sure what Fight Club is, but that sounds about right.”

Richard tried to ignore the fact that his beloved had no idea what  _Fight Club_  was. “You two had a sleepover?”

Izzy laughed. “Of course. How else do you think I knew where you lived? You never gave me your address.”

“Right. Of course. A sleepover is the most obvious explanation.” His droll sense of irony penetrated even Layla’s pain-fogged mind and made her smile.

“She came over a couple times while you were gone to keep me company,” Layla explained.

“So did you paint each other’s nails? Discuss boys? Braid each other’s hair?”

“Pretty much. I think I even hit her with a pillow once.”

“I didn’t think things like that happened outside of movies.”

Layla smiled up at him. “I didn’t think men like you happened outside of movies.”

Izzy made loud gagging noises. “I’m going to go if you two are going to get all cutesy.”

Richard laughed. “Izzy, thank you for everything you’ve done today. Really. Thank you for calling me and then for letting me stay with her.”

“Hey, that’s what best friends are for. And Layla, I’m sorry I panicked and called your parents. Speaking of which, where are they?”

Layla looked at Richard and giggled.

Richard fought back a smile. “They were tiring her out, so I asked them to leave so she could get some rest.”

She laughed. “That’s one way of putting it. A very polite way. I think it was Mum hinting that my life would have been better if I had married Thomas Fisher that was the final straw for him.”

Izzy shook her head in disbelief. She had heard this tirade from Layla’s mum before. “You were eighteen when he proposed!”

“Yes, but he’s a good Catholic boy and he still lives two blocks from his mother. Unlike Richard here who will drag me down even deeper into this den of licentiousness and depravity.”

“Well, all hail King Richard, I say.”

“Amen,” Layla agreed. She looked up at Richard to find him practically blushing. Bashful was a new side to him.

There was a knock at the door and Izzy opened it. “I need to talk to Layla O’Connoll.”

“Come in.”

Layla looked at the unfamiliar woman in black trousers and a purple button front shirt. “Can I help you?”

“I’m Detective Merrell. I’ve been assigned your case and I have some questions for you, if you feel up to talking.”

Layla nodded.  “Have you caught him yet?”

“No, but we have people still looking for him.” Layla instinctively curled closer to Richard, who stroked her arm reassuringly. “We’ve also notified his place of employment that if he comes in they are to call us immediately.”

“What do you need from me then?”

“We have the video of the assault but it doesn’t have any sound. We were wondering if you could tell us anything about what he said, especially anything that might help us know where he is now.”

“Ummmm, my memory is still kind of sketchy of what happened. They say that’s normal with a concussion?”

The detective nodded.

“But he said that we’re alone now and I didn’t have any big man to protect me.”

“Any big man?”

“Him.” She nodded at Richard. “We ran into each other a week ago Saturday and Joshua threatened me, but Richard kept him from actually hitting me.”

“I see. And your name, sir?”

“Richard Armitage.”

“And how do you know Ms. O’Connoll?”

“I dare you to say biblically,” Layla whispered.

Richard smiled at her sass. “I’m her boyfriend. We live together.”

“So he deliberately sought you out somewhere he knew Mr. Armitage wouldn’t be.”

“Yes. He said that he was going to get fired from his job because Lisabeth – his current girlfriend, though I guess ex-girlfriend now – reported what he was doing to the university. And he said that because I told about what he did to me, he was going to cut up my face and ruin my life like I had ruined his.”

“Did he say anything else?”

“Just that he was adamant that everything that had happened was my fault, and that I was going to pay for it.”

“Alright then. I talked to the A&E downstairs and they said they have what you were wearing and I’m going to take that in for evidence. They didn’t run a rape kit because there was no sign that you were sexually assaulted. Do you want a rape kit run now?”

She shook her head. “He just beat the shit out of me. He didn’t rape me.”

“Then I need to take some photos of your injuries for evidence.”

“Right now?”

“The fresher the better. I know that sounds horrible, but the photos tend to have more of an effect on juries the more recent the injuries.”

Layla closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Okay. What do I need to do?”

Layla stared impassively ahead as the detective took several photos of her face and scalp. She then stood and removed her hospital gown so she could photograph the rest of the bruises, zooming in on body parts so as not to record her genitals. She could see the imprints of the stair edges across her thighs, and what looked like a bootprint on her ribs, though she didn’t remember that happening. Maybe after she blacked out? She didn’t remember getting stitched up or anything from the time she lost consciousness until she woke in the hospital bed with Richard holding her hand.

Tears slowly dripped down her face as the detective impassively documented the extent of her injuries.  She felt dehumanized by the scrutiny, as if she were a crime scene rather than a person. Richard stood watching, his hand covering the lower half of his face as he fought down both anger and bile at seeing the full extent of what Joshua had done to her. He wanted to take the camera from the detective and smash it so no one would ever see what she had undergone. He wanted to wrap a blanket around her and cocoon her from the entire world. Izzy busied herself making the bed more comfortable to keep from having to watch Layla’s shoulders tremble. Finally the meticulous process was over and Layla scurried back into the hospital gown, letting Izzy help her with the snaps and ties. Izzy then helped her put on a clean pair of knickers and Richard helped her back into bed.

“Thank you for your time, Ms. O’Connoll. If you remember anything else, please don’t hesitate to ring me.” She held out a card which Richard took.

Izzy ushered her out and then said, “I’m going to leave now as well. You go to sleep, young lady.”

“Thank you, Izz. Really. Thank you for taking care of me.”

“Any time, sweets. Hopefully never like this again, though.” She kissed Layla on an uninjured patch of her forehead. She bade farewell, turned off the overhead lights, and Richard and Layla were left alone.

“Are we expecting anyone else to come by this evening?” Layla asked, yawning as the dimness underscored her exhaustion.

“No, I think that’s it, though I’m sure nurses will come and wake you up every few hours to check on you.”

She sighed. “Thank you for staying.”

“I don’t think you could have kicked me out if you tried.”

“I think I proved today that I am incapable of kicking anyone in a meaningful fashion.”

Richard shifted on the bed so that he could see her face better. When he was looking her in the eyes, he said. “He’s never going to hurt you again.”

“That’s sweet of you to say, but you can’t know that.”

His mouth firmed. “How about I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure he never hurts you again.”

“Richard, promise me you’re not going to go after him.” Layla gently touched his cheek.

“I won’t. But I’m not letting you out of my sight until the police have him in custody.”

“So what, you’re just going to sit around and watch me all day?” She smiled at him, obviously thinking the idea was ridiculous.

Richard had a different thought about this. “Yes.”

Her eyebrows raised in surprise. “You have a job and babysitting me isn’t it.”

“Making sure you’re safe is more important to me than my job.” It was his turn to stroke her face, carefully teasing out a path down her cheek and along her jaw that wasn’t marred.

“And if they don’t catch him? What are you going to do when I go back to work next week? Come follow me around the office?”

“If that’s what it takes to keep you safe.”

She thought it was adorable how stubborn he was being, though the roughness of his voice stirred something more fundamental within her. She poked him in the chest. “You’re being ridiculous. You can’t just follow me around all day.”

Richard sat up and looked away, frustrated by how easily she was disregarding his concerns. “Well what do you suggest I do then? How do I keep you safe? Because next time he’s going to kill you, Layla, and I won’t let that happen.”

“It’s not your job to keep me safe.” She gently stroked his back.

He turned back around and glared at her. “Well, whose job is it? Because whoever it belongs to is doing a real shitty job of it.”

She blinked several times, surprised by his anger and frustration, fighting down the surge of fear it generated.  _This is Richard. He isn’t going to hit you, Layla. He’s allowed to be angry and he’s not going to hit you._  “Ideally, it wouldn’t be any one’s job. We’d live in a world where people didn’t think that someone was their punching bag just because they were smaller or weaker. But we don’t. So it’s my job to keep me safe. And I’m sorry that I’m doing such a shitty job of it.” She glared back at him, which actually surprised Richard, that she was able to stand up to him like this. “Even more sorry than you, believe me, because it may hurt you to see me like this, but you have no idea how much it hurts to  _be_  like this. Because I know in my veins and in my bones that even if I fight back, I’m going to end up like this just because most men are bigger and stronger than me. So I’m sorry if for the first time in your life you know what it’s like to be afraid, but I’ve been dealing with this shit since I was in my teens and it never goes away. So I’m just going to keep living my life because it’s the only way I know how to win. To not let them stop me, even if I’m bruised and bloody when I’m doing it.”

He clenched his hands into fists and took a deep breath, holding it for long seconds before finally letting it out. His jaw was still clenched shut as he exhaled. “This isn’t acceptable to me.”

“It’s not  _acceptable_  to me either, but short of locking myself inside all day, which I  _refuse_ to do, I don’t see how I can really change it that much.”

“You’re the one who made it okay. If you had left him the first time he had hit you, you wouldn’t be here today.”

Her eyes widened in shock and then he watched as her mouth firmed up, fighting back a quiver. “You told me before that nothing justified him hitting me. And now you’re saying it’s my fault.”

“I didn’t say it was your fault.”

She wouldn’t look at him. “Yes you did. If I had left him when he hit me the first time, he wouldn’t have beaten me today. Therefore, it’s my fault that I’m here in this hospital bed.”

He ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“Why didn’t you leave him before he could do this to you? I’ve tried to understand why you stayed, but I don’t.” His voice was full of bewilderment and anger and frustration. He almost sounded like he was in physical pain.

“Because I was scared! Scared of this, okay? He told me if I left him he’d destroy me. And he nearly got away with it. And I’d rather get beat up a bit than die.”

The anger melted out of him at the pain in her confession. “God, Layla, I want to  _hurt_  him. I want to hurt him the way he hurt you. I want him to  _suffer_.” His voice was rough and hard and she tugged on his hand until he rejoined her on the bed.

“I know. But don’t. Please? I don’t want that ugliness for you.” She cupped his cheek with one hand. “Please don’t let that damage what we have.”

“If he comes after you, I will protect you.” He would brook no argument in that regard.

“I know. And I want you to protect me in that case. But the minimal amount of damage, okay?”

His eyes searched her face, cataloging the injuries again as he also saw the gentleness in her eyes. “How are you still so forgiving after everything he did to you?”

“I don’t know what made him the way he is. Maybe something horrible happened to him when he was younger. Maybe his dad beat him. I just don’t want to add to the amount of ugly in the world.” At the words, her eyes flickered away from him and she reached up to the stitches on her forehead.

“You’re beautiful, Layla. Inside and out.” His words warmed her body, but not her heart.

“I want to believe you. But I didn’t believe you before. I don’t think I can believe you now. I’ve seen what he did.”

He drew her into his arms, helping her find a comfortable position in which to sleep. When he heard her breathing change into the steady rhythm of sleep, he kissed her gently on her forehead. “You will believe me someday, Layla. Someday.”


	13. Chapter 13

_about six weeks later_

Layla shoved the magazine under the blankets when Richard unexpectedly walked into the bedroom.

He chuckled at the guilty expression on her face. “Well, that was subtle. You looking at porn or something?”

“No.” She tried to school her face into an innocent expression.

He strolled over to the bed. “What are you hiding?”

“Nothing.”

“Something’s got you blushing wildly.” He sat down on the edge of the bed and tugged at the blankets but she grabbed ahold of the edge and refused to let go. Surprised at her tenacity, he let go of the blanket. “Okay, I’ll let you have your secret.”

“I thought you weren’t going to be back until later.”

A smile teased at the corner of his mouth. “Obviously.”

She sighed and pulled out the magazine and handed it to him.

He looked at the cover and one eyebrow arched in amusement.

“No laughing,” she warned.

“I’m not laughing.”

“You’re  _thinking_ about laughing.”

He looked up at her and his eyes were dancing with amusement. “Not at the magazine though.”

“At what then?”

“You hiding a copy of  _Brides_  like it’s porn.”

She blushed up to her roots and looked at him sternly. “No laughing at that either.”

 “You don’t have to hide this from me.

“I just feel weird looking at in front of you.”

“Why? I did ask you to marry me after all. You’re the one who said no.”

She looked away from him and shook her head so her hair fell into her face. “Well, yes, but that was when I was still pregnant.”

He brushed her hair back and tucked it behind her ear. “You’ll get pregnant again. You’ve been hiding your heart from me lately. Please don’t. And don’t hide your face either, my Layla.” He flashed back to coming home and finding her curled up in bed crying. Without even saying anything he knew she had lost the baby. Things had almost been back to normal. Joshua had been arrested, her stitches had come out, her bruises were gone, and then this. He wrapped himself around her and held her as she cried.

She sighed. She almost felt lucky that she had been so preoccupied with Joshua’s assault that she hadn’t gotten overly attached to the idea of being a mother. The physical pain still hadn’t matched the emotional loss though. Richard had been amazing in his care for her. Even in his own grief, which at times she felt surpassed her own, he had been unfailingly gentle and patient with her. Even when she woke in the middle of the night crying, he would soothe her to sleep with gentle words and touches. She had asked him to sing to her one night, and had fallen asleep to deep and throaty lullabies resonating through her. “Are you going to wait until I get pregnant again to ask?” Part of her needed to know the answer, as much as she dreaded what it might be.

He touched her face, gently tilting it up to look at him. “Do you want me to ask you soon?”

“No. I mean, I don’t want to tell you when to ask me, but I think I’ve had one week of normalcy in my life since I met you and I was just wondering like, if we have plans for a future together or if it’s that we’re together and we’ll deal with things as they come up. I mean, we’ve known each other three months, I’m not expecting  _this_ anytime soon,” she waved the magazine at him, “and the only reason I have this is because Izzy left it on my desk with a note that said, ‘Life goes on, honey. There are still good times to be had. I get veto power on my dress.’”

“Izzy is a wise woman.”

“Yes, but then I look at this magazine and I’m like, oooooh, that’s pretty, and so is that, and oh, look a wedding in a castle that’s what I want, and then I’m all ooooh, a beach wedding, that would be so romantic, and then I think about getting married and it sounds so fun but then I think about planning a wedding and I get overwhelmed by the choices, and then I think about planning a wedding with my mother and it makes me want to elope or never getting married at all. You feel me?”

“When I’m lucky.”

The grin on his face made her laugh and she pushed him back on the bed. Straddling his hips, she leaned forward, resting her elbows on his chest and propping her head up on her hands. _This is an incredibly awkward position._  She laughed and grabbed a pillow and said, “Sit up.” He did and she tucked the pillow behind him and then pushed him back down.

“And you complain about me being bossy.”

“I don’t think I ever really complained about it. I just remarked upon it.”

She wriggled herself into a comfortable position, resting on his chest so she could look at him.

He rested his hands on her hips. “Semantics, semantics.”

She kissed him softly. “And of course this all assumes that you have absolutely no preferences about the wedding, but I’m sure you have some.” She nuzzled against his neck. It had been a long time since she had felt happy like this. She had a burning desire to feel his lips scorching her flesh.

“Just a few.”

She sat up so she could look him in the eyes. “Is that a serious answer? Because that could be like you really do have just a few or you could be sarcastic and you have lots of ideas or sarcastic and have no ideas. And you’re not doing the eyebrow thing which I think means you were serious about that.”

“I have maybe three things I care about with a wedding.”

“And what are those?”

“I want dancing. Not just a first dance but actual dancing for hours. The reception should be a party.”

“Okay.”

“Second, no cake smashing.”

“Oh, god no. So tacky.”

“And third, I want the actual wedding ceremony to feel…sacred, I guess, for lack of a better word. Not religious, but important and meaningful.”

“Anything else?”

“As long as I’m married to you at the end of it, it will be perfect.”  _God this man made her go all smooshy inside when he talked like that._ It was inevitable. She had to kiss him again. Richard responded enthusiastically, and by the time she came up for air, she was on her back and he was leaning over her, propped on his elbows on either side of her head.

“You realize I’m not asking you to propose, right?” His face was so close.

“Yes.” Now it was his turn to nuzzle her neck. His teeth scraped across the soft skin and she tilted her head to the side, giving him more access. It amazed him how much she trusted him considering what Joshua had done to her last month. That she willingly exposed her throat to him made his heart ache with tenderness and gratitude.

“Because we’ve only known each other for three months,” she managed to say, her brain slowly shutting down advanced communication functions as the waves of pleasure his tongue generated short circuited her nerves.

“Yes, but we’ve gone through more shit in those three months than some couples go through in decades.”

“True.” She managed to gasp out as his teeth tested the resiliency of her skin over her shoulder.

He pushed up so he could look her in the face. “But concerning planning for the future, do you think you’re feeling brave?”

The twinkle in his eyes both intrigued and alarmed her. “Why, what?”

“I got a call from Dean today. Apparently a gallery here in London is doing an exhibition of his photography. He’s planning an Oakenshield and Company reunion for the opening weekend.”

“Do I have to remember who plays which dwarf?”

He bent down to kiss the other side of her throat. “No.”

“Good, because I can keep you and Kili and Fili straight, and I’m pretty good at Ori and Dwalin and Bofur and then I get lost.”

“Then you’re doing about as well as Peter did most days.” He shoved the strap of her vest over to expose more of her freckled skin.

She rubbed nervously at the scar on her forehead, a habit she had acquired in the past few weeks. Richard noticed her touching it and gently took her hand and held it. “They will all love you.”

She took a deep breath and let it out.

“The ones who have ‘met’ you already do.”

“So what does the Bag End reunion consist of?”

“Dinner and drinks the night before and then showing up without a hangover to the gallery opening the next day.”

She smiled up at him. “I think I can manage that.”

“It does tend to get a bit rowdy after everyone has a few drinks in them.”

“Yes, well I should fit right in.” She licked her lips. “I’ll try not to ask people about their genitalia.”

“Darling, you probably won’t have to ask,” he warned.

She giggled in response. “Well, this could be quite the interesting get together, won’t it? Will I get to hear all sorts of scandalous things about what happened behind the scenes?”

Now it was his turn to look concerned. “Whether I want you to or not.”

“I am definitely looking forward to this, then. I’ll kidnap Aidan and Dean and pump them for secrets.”

He rubbed his head in concern. “Then I have one more favor to ask of you.”

“What is that?”

“Come camping with me.”

This request came completely out of the blue for Layla. “Camping?”

“Camping.”

Something was not computing. “Like in a tent?”

“Yes, in a tent.”

“Isn’t camping just making fun of homeless people? ‘Look, I have an awesome home and yet I choose to mimic you as a form of entertainment. Of course, I will also bring tents and blankets and food and maybe a portable generator, but still, I am roughing it and getting back to nature.’ Why would you want to get back to nature? We’ve spent thousands of years trying to get away from nature. Nature tends to kill you dead.”

He chuckled against her throat. “Yes, but it’s also amazingly fun.” He nipped at the delicate skin, enjoying the little shudder it generated.

“I haven’t been camping since I was little.”

He grinned and kissed down her neck to her collarbone. “That really does not surprise me.”

She looked down at him skeptically. “Would I have to sleep on the ground?”

“Well there would be a tent and sleeping bags, and I can probably even get us an air mattress if you think you want one. I figure we would do car camping for your first time. Then we can do day hikes out of camp.”

“Camping and hiking.”

He looked up at her. “Yes, and bonfires and snuggling together in the cold.”

“You have a fireplace and I can just turn off the heater.”

“But there will be starlight and food roasted over a fire and I promise not to shave while we’re out there and I can wake you in the morning by rubbing my chin on various parts of your body.” She smiled at the thought.  _Okay, maybe it won’t be all bad._

“Did I ever tell you why I’m scared of the dark?”

“No.”

“On a camping trip when I was little. We were out hiking at night and I got divebombed by an owl. It grabbed some little rodent that was under the leaves right in front of me and I heard it’s death scream.”

He realized this was a very big deal for her, to confront a fear she’d had for two decades. “Well, I promise to keep you safe from owls and screaming animals and the dark. How about that?”

She sighed and looked up into his loving blue eyes. “You really want to do this, don’t you?”

“Yes. I love it, and I think I could make you love it too. Just try it with me, just once, and if you don’t like it I won’t ask you to go again.”

She sighed. She never could tell him no. “Okay. But I get to keep a lantern in the tent in case I freak out.”

“Of course.”

“I guess this means I need to buy new shoes.”

“You always look on the bright side.”

“And maybe a cute coat or something like that. Are there cute camping clothes?” Suddenly camping didn’t sound so bad.

“I’m sure we could find you something.”

She ran a fingertip down his nose. “This is how you should sell me on new activities in the future. ‘How would you like to buy a new pair of boots?’”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Right now, I’m more interested in taking off your clothes than buying you new ones, though.”

“I had noticed that.” She wrapped her legs loosely around his, resting her heels on the back of his thighs. “I had definitely noticed that.”

He skimmed one hand down her side and then up under the fabric of her top. He palmed her breast, feeling it instantly respond to the caress. She started undoing the buttons on his shirt, fumbling with them as he rolled her nipple between his thumb and fingers. “It’s very difficult to concentrate when you do that.”

“I know, that’s part of the reason I do it.” He bent to her breast, sucking the nipple into his mouth, dampening the cotton with his tongue.

Her hands slid to his head. “I give up. You can take your own damn shirt off.”

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through her breast and hardening her nipple even further.

“You surrender quite easily, madam.”

“Well, yes. Why in the world would I not surrender to you and your mouth and your hands and your other things.”

He pulled up her shirt and bent his head to her breast again. Finally her skin bore no marks from what she had undergone and all he saw were the scattering of freckles across her chest. He licked down her sternum to her navel, and swirled his tongue around it, knowing it tickled and she would laugh. He smiled at the sound. She hadn’t laughed much lately, but tonight was different. Tonight he felt like Layla,  _his_ Layla, was actually back.

 Layla ran her hands over his back, feeling the muscles flexing under her touch. “You need to take off your shirt.”

He laughed. “So do you.”

“I’ll race you.”

“Full naked?”

She nodded.

“Ready, go!”

She laughed and pushed him off so she could sit up enough to remove her shirt. The poor boy had buttons and zippers on his trousers to deal with, but all she had was her pyjama pants, which she wriggled out of easily.

“I win!”

“I think I really win here. Come help, woman.”

She undid the zip on his jeans and slid her hand inside, palming him through the fabric of his boxer briefs. “Oh, I think I’m the winner,” she purred as she slowly stroked him.

She watched as his eyes fell closed and he rubbed helplessly against her palm.

“I thought you were supposed to be taking off your shirt.”

“Doesn’t matter. ‘S not necessary to take off anymore.”

“C’mon baby, you know how much I love your chest. And if I have to unbutton your shirt than I have to stop doing this.” She squeezed his cock gently.

“You’re a wicked woman.”

“I know. And you love that about me.” She slid her hand farther down, cupping his balls through the fabric and lightly pressing on the skin behind them. “Fuck, Layla.”

“I’m trying to, but you won’t take your clothes off.”

He growled at her as he quickly finished the buttons on his shirt and yanked it off, sitting up and bringing her face to his in a crushing kiss. She opened her mouth to his instinctively and his tongue was hot and firm and demanding as he kissed her, and she gave him everything he wanted and more in response. She hooked her hands in the waistband of his jeans and slid off the bed, tugging them with her, grabbing his pants in the process. He stood, helping her rid him of the pesky clothes and then pulled her gently to her feet, one hand in her hair. “I don’t want to make slow love to you tonight, Layla. I want to take you now and live inside you forever.”

“Good. Because you have no idea how bad I want you right now.”

He slipped a hand between her thighs and she grabbed onto his shoulders as her knees buckled. “I have some idea,” he whispered into her ear, as he slid a finger and then two deeply inside her.

“Now, Richard. Please.”

He pushed her gently onto the bed and she crawled back as he advanced on her until they were comfortable ensconced in the middle of their large mattress. She parted her legs for him and wound them around his hips as he pressed against her. She pushed her hips upward, seeking his cock, helping it find just the right spot, and  _push._ She lost her breath as he drove deeper and deeper inside of her, his face buried against her throat. They had both needed this, to come together not just out of necessity but out of love and passion and desire, with full hearts and joy and laughter. She held his head against her with one hand, her other clutching at his back as he pumped in and out of her body. She met him and welcomed him and invited him deeper, pure hospitality for the master of the house. She was his in a way that she didn’t understand, couldn’t begin to comprehend, but she knew that he filled her emotionally even more than he filled her physically. This was home now, wrapped in his arms, wrapped around him. She was his candle in the window, leading him back to light and warmth and love, just as much as he was her shelter from the storm. Together, they took care of each other, and as she felt her body lose control as his mouth trailed wet kisses across her throat and her nails left marks down his back, she knew that whether or not they ever officially got married, what they had between them was sacred and holy and would change her life forever.


	14. Chapter 14

Layla was flipping through photos from the latest runway shows looking for common trends that would make a unifying editorial when her mobile rang. “Absolutely Cuckoo” by Magnetic Fields. Richard.

She answered with a smile on her face. “Hello, love.”

“Hello, my Layla. I was wondering if you had any plans for this evening?”

“Not that I am aware of, why?”

“Well,” he drawled the word, and Layla could just picture him leaning back in his chair, “I was thinking about what you said a few days ago about the lack of normalcy we’ve had since we’ve been together and I was thinking that since it is Friday, the absolutely most normal thing we could do is to go on a date. The most prosaic date possible. So, how would you feel about dinner and the cinema tonight?”

“I think that sounds lovely.”

“I’ll pick you up at seven?”

“You’re going to pick me up? Like go outside and knock on the door?”

“I’ll get ready someplace else and then come pick you up.”

“Wow. So this is going to be an actual date.”

“Yes, it is. So I’ll see you at seven.”

“Okay. See you at seven.” She was grinning as she hung up the phone.

It was like a first date all over again. It didn’t matter that she’d been living with this man for a few months, and that he’d seen her all sorts of naked; the nerves were back in full force and she paced the living room waiting for the knock at the door. She had raided the sample rooms at work and had a new outfit, black skinny jeans with an asymmetrical shimmery golden shirt that left one shoulder and arm completely bare while the other side had a long billowy sleeve that cinched around the wrist. A gold gemstone studded cuff on her bare arm, simple gold earrings and little black high heeled ankle boots completed the look. Richard had gotten used to her coming home from work and changing into pyjamas and running around barefoot. She was going to give him a treat. She’d even managed to fight her hair into a loose updo, knowing how much he loved to touch her neck.  _I think he likes touching my neck almost as much as I love him touching my neck._

When she answered the knock at the door, she was glad she had put in the effort. Black trousers, blue button down with the sleeves rolled, his black waistcoast with the burgundy back and loosely knotted tie.  _Someday I am going to write an article called ‘How to make a woman’s knickers fall off’ and a phot of this will be the entire thing. I’ll just have to write the caption. ‘This. Do this.’_ She made a high-pitched little whine in the back of her throat just from looking at him.

“Hello, Layla.” His smile quirked up at one corner as he heard the noise she made and he kissed her on the cheek. “I brought you flowers.” He handed her a bouquet of lavender freesia.

She buried her nose in the blossoms and inhaled deeply. The smell was divine. “I love freesia. Thank you for these. Why don’t you come in while I put these in water?” She grabbed the vase from off of the dining room table and took it into the kitchen to fill it with water. The vase was rarely empty for more than twenty-four hours, and every time he brought flowers, he chose something different. Once the blossoms were situated, she took one more deep inhale and then placed them on the table.

“Ready to go?” she asked.                          

“Do you want a coat?”

“No, if I get cold I’ll just leech off of your heat.”

He pulled her close, slipping his arms around her waist. “And what do I get out of that arrangement?”

“Me,” she smiled up at him through her lashes, her voice a little breathy, “pressed up against you, getting you hot. It’s a self-generating cycle.”

He pressed her up against the wall with his body. “Suddenly dinner doesn’t seem so important.”

She laughed and then he ran his tongue from her collarbone up to her ear and all the air in her lungs left in one breathless rush as he head lolled back. He slotted his thigh between her legs and pressed against her as he kissed the delicate skin behind her ear. She rested her hands on his shoulders, partly out of a desire to touch him, and partly out of a need to keep her balance. “I thought we were going on a date,” she murmured. He was kissing back down her neck, and the rough sandpaper rasp of stubble, the hard smooth bite of teeth, and the soft wet warmth of his tongue all combined to send heat spiraling down her spine into all of her limbs.

“Who wants to go on a normal date? Think of how much more fun we could have here, just the two of us.” His hands were on her breasts now, squeezing them gently.

“I got all dressed up for this.”

“I’ll help you get all undressed for this. Speaking of which, what are you wearing under your blouse?” He pulled out the neckline of her shirt and peered down. He looked back up at her, a smirk on his face. “Are you wearing a corset?”

“It’s a strapless bra. It’s just long.”

He pouted a little. “I was hoping you were braless.”

“Darling, the girls need a little support to show them off to their best advantage.”

“I’ll support them for you.”  _Such a cheeky volunteer._

“That might be difficult to do while you eat dinner.”

He went back to kissing her neck.  _So much more entertaining than talking about food._  “I thought I was talking you out of dinner.”

“I thought we were going to be normal for an evening?”

He pulled back from her. “What’s so appealing about being normal? We could stay in and have a night of amazing sex.”

“But,” she stopped, sighing.

“What’s going on, Layla?”

“This is going to sound stupid.” She wouldn’t look at him so he gently turned her face up to his.

“You know how bossy I am, right?”

Her brows wrinkled in confusion at the non-sequitir. “Yes.”

“You aren’t allowed to use the word stupid anymore.”

“But,” she started.

He shook his head. “No. It’s a word Joshua drilled into your head, and it’s not true, and every time you use it, you’re just letting him back in to your life. You don’t get to use it anymore.”

She smiled half-heartedly at his edict, recognizing the truth to his reasoning even if she didn’t want to admit it. “Okay, so this probably won’t make sense to you but I think it would be reassuring to me to go out and be normal for an evening instead of the amazing sex.”

“And why is that?”

She spoke quietly to the top button on his waistcoat. “Because I don’t want you to get bored of me.”

He took her hand and held it over his chest. “Why, my Layla, would I ever get bored of you?”

“Because I can’t keep my hands off of you. And we don’t go do things. We just end up shagging each other senseless every night. And there’s only so many things I know how to do in bed so you’re eventually going to get bored and go find someone else to entertain you. And then I think that maybe you don’t want to go do things because I’ve got this stupid scar,” he raised an eyebrow at her word choice, and she corrected herself, “I mean big scar, and you’re embarrassed by me, and things are just too good between us, like even with all the shit we’ve had to deal with and it’s like nothing could happen that could break us, and it can’t stay this good forever and I don’t know how to keep from messing it up, so maybe if I can just delay the inevitable,” her words were stemmed with his lips. She could feel the tears welling in her eyes at the softness. He wasn’t angry with her, or irritated that her fears were running like hamsters in their wheels powering the neuroses birthed from too little love and too much fear; he loved her and that was all she could feel in his kisses. He kissed her because sometimes her brain couldn’t hear what he was saying, but her body always listened. He was writing her love letters with his tongue and composing poetry with his hands and writing sonnets with his arms wrapped around her body.

Eventually he removed his lips from hers. She tucked her head under his chin and just listened to his heart for a while. This here was this place she felt safest. Here, she could believe it would last forever with his scent better than any cologne and the touch of his skin and the sound of his breathing and she realized that was why sex with him was so amazing, because it took all of the senses, as well as her whole heart. It was so overwhelmingly sensual that her brain couldn’t process the crazy narratives she told herself, allowing her to soak in the love he had for her.

“You say we haven’t had normal.  _This_  is our normal, Layla,” he finally said. “I don’t know what you’re used to, and it isn’t what I’m used to either, but this amazing overwhelming intensity is  _our_  normal. And you’re right, most people don’t have this, but you are seared onto my soul in a way that will never go away. We haven’t had a lot of calm, but this is our normal. This isn’t going away. I’m not going away.”

“How in hell can what I feel when you kiss me be considered normal?”

He brushed his lips against hers, lingering over the slow tender movements until they were both breathless. “What do you feel when I kiss you?”

“I don’t even have words for what I feel. I would have to make you a playlist.”

“I made my share of mixed tapes when I was younger.”

“Did you every pull a Lloyd Dobler and stand outside a girl’s window with a boombox?”

“No. But I would if you think it would help you believe me when I tell you that I am never going to leave you.”

She smiled, blushing like a teenager confronted with her first crush. “What song would you play?”

“Is ‘Layla’ too obvious an answer?”

She laughed. “Yes.”

“Because it kind of fits,” he coaxed her to agree with him.

“I know, but pick something else.”

He grinned. “You’re the one being bossy, now.”

“I know, and you love it.”

“I do. It means you feel safe.”

She smiled in acknowledgement of this truth. “Besides, I thought you liked it when  _I_ was on the one on my knees.”

“ _You_  are a naughty girl.”

“You like that too.”

“Mmmmm, yes I do.” He took her by the hand. “Okay, here’s the deal. We’re going to go out to dinner. And then we’re going to go see a film that’s been out for a while so the theatre will be mostly empty and we’ll sit in the back and snog like a couple of horny teenagers, okay?”

“That sounds perfect.”

And it was.

Layla learned a lot that evening. She learned that her name was also a term of endearment when it came from his lips. That there was a spot on his neck that made him purr like a cat when she touched it. That he could remove her bra without taking off her top while in a restaurant. She also realized that it could fit in her purse. She discovered how loud a zipper could be in an empty theatre, and how quiet Richard could be when he came in her mouth if he had to be. She never did figure out what film they were watching, but that’s okay. That would have been too normal.

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first installment in the Bag End reunion story arc. I’m thinking there will be three chapters in this mini-arc, but it may be four by the time I’m done.

“What am I supposed to wear to this thing?” she called down the hall.

“Whatever you feel like wearing.”

“What are you wearing?”

“Clothes.” Even without seeing him she could hear his smirk.  _How can he be infuriating and adorable at the same time?_

“You’re not helping.”

“Jeans, shirt, probably a jacket or cardigan.”

“Hmmmm.”  _Men have it so easy._ “Do you want sexy girlfriend or fashionista girlfriend or don’t look at my girlfriend girlfriend?”

“Wear whatever you want.” His laughter made her want to chuck a clog at his head.  _It’s not that easy, you tit!_ She threw up her hands in exasperation and went back into her closet. Forty minutes later when she still hadn’t emerged, Richard went to check on her only to find her half dressed with clothes scattered all over the guest bed.

“Darling, we need to leave in ten minutes.”

“Well, maybe you could give me some more advice than ‘wear what you want’!” she snapped.

Slightly taken aback by the irritation in her voice, he placed his hands on her shoulders. “Layla, why are you so worked up about this? You tell people what to wear for a living.”

She rested her forehead on his chest and took a deep breath. “I don’t want to embarrass you and they’re all your friends and I’m not used to hanging out with famous people.”

His hands slid from her shoulders to her back, forcing himself not to undo her bra as he pulled her in for a hug. “You hang out with me. I’m almost famous.”

“You don’t count,” she muttered against his chest.

“Why not?”

“Because I have sex with you, and once I’ve had sex with someone they don’t count as famous; but I’m pretty sure that isn’t a remedy you want me applying in this situation.”

She could feel his chest shaking from repressed laughter. “No. No, it’s not.”

She pulled back and looked at him. “Is this what you’re wearing?”

He nodded. “If that’s okay with you, madam expert?”

She smiled, thinking he had no idea how much she loved him in a loosely knotted tie and a cardigan. “You look fine, but now that I know what you’re wearing, I have a better idea of how to dress. Oh, and push up your sleeves.”

“Okay. We need to leave in five minutes though.”

“Yes, mother,” she replied as she stuck out her tongue as his retreating back.

He paused and turned around. “Don’t make me spank you.”

“What if I want you to spank me?” The air between them sparked with a sudden charge and she turned slightly to give him a better view of her denim-clad bum. She raised an eyebrow in challenge and watched him close his eyes as a shudder ripped through him.

“I think we should finish this conversation later.” His head cocked to the side as he worked to get out a smile. She loved how much stronger his accent got when he was getting aroused.  _Latuh._ It sent a shiver down her spine.

“Promise?”

“Oh, I promise.” It was practically a growl.

He left so he wouldn’t distract her anymore while she finished getting dressed, though honestly it was so he would let her continue to get dressed. A few minutes later, he looked up as he heard her walk into the living room. She was still putting in her earrings. He sat as he watched her, mesmerized into a moment of purely sexual appreciation. “When we finish that spanking conversation, I want you wearing those boots.  _Just_  those boots.”

She smiled knowingly. “Aren’t they fabulous?”

He slowly walked towards her, letting his eyes drift over her body again, the curves of her torso highlighted by the fitted corduroy jacket partially zipped over a black tee. Lingering on the arc of her hips in her artfully faded jeans, the sleek line of her thighs down to her knees, where denim gave way to olive-green leather boots.   Some combination of the treacherously high heel, the pointed toe, the gloss of the leather, and the artfully arranged series of straps and six gold buckles that started across the arch of her foot and ended up right below her knee made them give off the air of feminine armor. If Galadriel was going to wear boots into battle, they would be these boots . “They make you look very  _very_ fuckable. And I mean that in a good way.” He stroked his hand down the soft wale of her sleeve and realized he was going to be petting her all night in that jacket.

She laughed. Her auburn curls hung loose around her face  - she wore her hair down more lately, he realized, and she hid behind it more as well – and put in her other earring, long dangles that highlighted the swan-like curve of her neck. He had a sudden urge to just throw her over his shoulder and spend the evening with her in bed until they both were sweaty and hoarse and exhausted in a dehydrated pile of tired limbs and heaving lungs.

Unaware of the thoughts running through his mind, or at least ignoring them, she asked, “Ready?”

He nodded and she grabbed her purse.

On the drive to the restaurant, Layla started rehearsing all the information she had crammed into her head in the last few weeks.

“Do I call him Sir Ian or just Ian?”

“Just call him Ian.”

“And Martin – am I allowed to ask him about Sherlock or does he hate that?”

He brought his hand up to rest on her shoulder, letting his fingers stroke soothingly along the back of her neck. “I think as long as you don’t ask him how Sherlock survived the fall, he should be fine.”

“And Jed is Dwalin and James is Bofur.”

“Jed is Nori. Graham is Dwalin.”

“I’m going to screw this up.”

“Layla, you’re worrying too much.”

She rubbed her forehead. “I just don’t want to embarrass you in front of your friends.”

“Darling, you’re going to be one of the most sane people there. You have nothing to worry about. Martin may actually try to do kung-fu on you at some point.”

She looked at him in surprise. “Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

“And Aidan and Dean will prostrate themselves at your feet if you laugh at their jokes. They’re sort of like puppy dogs. Including the humping your leg part.”

She smiled. “What happens if I scratch their bellies?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

He took her hand and placed it on his thigh, covering it with his. She took a deep breath and relaxed slightly. Ever since their first night together this had calmed her nerves. The feel of his firm thigh under her hand, and the strong yet gentle hand over hers made her feel both safe and cherished. By the time they arrived at the restaurant she was almost back to normal. When the valet opened her door and helped her out of the car, a sudden surge of nerves overtook her until Richard took her hand. “You’re going to be fine,” he whispered against her ear before brushing his lips against it. She smiled up at him. The little surge of sexual energy settled her nerves. Regardless of what happened in there, he loved her and would continue to love her.

As they made their way through the club to the restaurant on the second floor, Layla kept reminding herself that everything was going to be fine. The hostess led them through double doors into a private room off of the main dining area, and she was immediately overwhelmed by the exuberant welcome. She had never seen so much man hugging and back slapping before in her life. She wasn’t sure if this was some sort of traditional dwarven greeting or if this just what happened when you stuck fifteen men on the backside of beyond for eighteen months and let them get stinky and violent together.

Aidan was the first one to really notice her hiding in Richard’s shadow.

“Auntie Layla!”

She couldn’t help but grin. He swept her up in a huge hug and swung her around. “I’m so excited to finally meet you. Come with me. Tell me stories.” He grabbed her hand and dragged her off to a conversation area set up in the back of the small room, and pulled her down next to him on a sofa. Dean seemed to materialize out of nowhere clutching tumblers and a bottle of whisky. “Drinks all around.”

He handed her a generous pour and then fixed drinks for him and Aidan before settling himself on the other side of her. He stretched his legs out and rested his feet on the table. “So, spill.”

“What am I supposed to be spilling?”

“Well, let’s start with how are you and Richard?”

“We’re great.”

Dean was not satisfied with the simple answer. “Are you two getting serious?”

“We’re living together. I guess that counts as serious.”

“So are you guys in loooove?” Aidan’s voice was sickly sweet.

“Are you guys twelve?” They both laughed. “Yes, we’re in love and we’re very happy.”

“So, Layla, tell us about yourself.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Let’s start with exactly how old you are.”

“Twenty-seven.”

Aidan looked at Dean meaningfully.

“What?”

“Aidan is very excited at being older than two people in the group now, instead of just one.”

Aidan laughed. “Some of these guys are old enough to be my father. Your father too.” He gave Layla his best lecherous leer.

She laughed at him. “Yes, but they’re  _not_.”

“So, like, is the age difference weird for you and Richard?” Dean asked somewhat embarrassed by the personal question.

“It’s never been an issue. He’s very,” she paused, searching for the right word, “fit.”

Dean choked on his drink and Layla laughed and pounded him on his back until he got his breath back. Dean finally managed to say, “That’s good.” She left her arm draped companionably across his shoulders.

“So, what happened here, dear?” Aidan touched the scar above her brow. “I don’t remember that when we skyped. You manage to smack yourself in the face with Orcrist?”

She rubbed the scar self-consciously. “Is that supposed to be a naughty joke?”

Aidan erupted in gales of laughter. “No. Richard has a replica of the Orcrist sword he used filming. He’s never showed it to you?”

Layla shook her head. “He’s been holding out on me. At least in that regard.” Her giggle was matched by snorts of laughter from both men.

“So what did you do?”

“My ex punched me.” She took a large swallow of her drink.

The smiles faded off of their faces as both of them realized she was serious.  “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Are you okay? Are you safe?” She had a sudden image of Kili and Fili running into battle as they both leaned forward in concern. She had a feeling that if she asked them to, they would go beat up Joshua without a moment’s hesitation. She looked around at the other men and realized they had become a family in those long months together, and she was now included in that bond with no hesitation.

She nodded. “He’s in prison. And Richard did break his nose, so there is that.”

Aidan and Dean exchanged glances. “Richard broke his nose?”

“One punch. It was scarily amazing.” Her arms prickled with gooseflesh as she remembered Richard dropping Joshua to the pavement with a single blow.

Aidan looked at Dean and shrugged. “There’s a reason they made him Thorin.”

“You guys crack me up.”

A loud commotion by the doors made their heads turn. Martin and Amanda had arrived. She watched the hugs and backslaps turn into an impromptu kung-fu fight. “He really wasn’t kidding,” Layla murmured.

“About what?”

“I was nervous about meeting everyone tonight, so Richard told me not to worry and said that Martin would kung-fu somebody before the evening was over.” They both laughed.

“Yeah, he was famous for doing that on set. What did he tell you about us?” Dean asked.

“That you’re both big puppies.

“We’re puppies?” Aidan sounded a bit offended.

She nodded and for a joke scratched behind Aidan’s ear. His eyes rolled back in his head. “Oh, keep doing that.”

She laughed and ran her fingers deeper into his hair, letting her nails scratch against his scalp, and he rubbed his head against her palm, positioning her hand where he wanted it. “God, you really are a giant puppy.”

He laughed. “You can call me whatever you like as long as you keep doing that.”

“Hey, stop hogging the head scratches.” Dean reached across Layla and pushed at Aidan.

“No fighting, children. I have two hands.” She put her drink down on the table and then scratched Dean’s scalp lightly with her other hand.

“A little harder.”

She laughed softly and increased the pressure and he moaned loudly. “Oh, yeah, just like that.” His utterance had unfortunately timed itself to fall exactly into one of those random lulls in the conversation so that the words hung in the air in the small room. The three didn’t notice as the boys were too busy enjoying their head scratches and Layla was giggling over the blissed out looks on their faces. Everyone else did, however, including Richard, who felt jealousy balling into a thorny knot in his chest as he watched his girlfriend comfily ensconced between two of his young co-stars moments after meeting them, her hands in their hair. All he could think was one word:  _Mine._

__


	16. Chapter 16

“I know that’s not Aidan’s girlfriend. Did Dean bring someone with him?” Amanda asked Martin.

“No, that’s my Layla,” Richard said, the knot of jealousy in his chest leaving an acrid taste in his mouth as he watched his girlfriend cuddling with two of his co-stars. He didn’t miss a few of the cast exchanging amused glances. He tried to laugh it off. “They’ve decided she’s their auntie.” That elicited laughter from everyone else.

“Layla,” he called, “you want to meet everyone?”

“Okay, puppies, master calls.” She patted Aidan and Dean on their heads.

“Master?” Dean arched an eyebrow. “Kinky.”

She stuck her tongue out at him, a cheeky motion that only emphasized her youthful features. The knot of jealousy flared as Richard recognized the exact action from earlier this evening when she had directed it at him. He watched as she walked towards him, a smile on her face and he smiled back, enjoying as always the way her hips moved, the gentle sway that was shown off to its best advantage by her tight jeans and heels. His eyes flicked to Dean and Aidan and saw that they were watching her as well.

“Sorry,” she said to the group, as she slipped her hand into Richard’s. “Aidan kidnapped me the moment I walked in the door.”

Aidan and Dean joined the group as Richard introduced her to everyone, and she shook hands and exchanged kisses around the circle. Dean thanked the northern hemisphere half of Oakenshield and Company for coming and she quickly found herself at a table with Richard on one side of her and Graham on the other. Richard kept one arm draped across the back of her chair. Every so often he would stroke his fingers up and down her arm. Mostly she listened to the friendly banter as platters of food were passed around and drinks were distributed. Part of her kept expecting them to break into a chorus of “Bend the Knives.” _Or is it blunt the knives?_ She usually just fast forwarded through that part until Thorin showed up again.

Luckily, Amanda was sitting across the table from her, one of the only two other females in the room. Layla complimented her on her necklace, which started the two of them talking about clothes. Layla asked Amanda if she would ever be interested in doing an editorial for _Marie Claire_ , and while Amanda said no, Martin said, “Of course she would. She’s much prettier than all those models you have posing for you.”

“You read Marie Claire, Martin?” Layla was surprised by this revelation.

“No, but she’s my Amanda. She’s fucking gorgeous.”

“You know, I could maybe talk to the people in the celebrity section and do a bigger spread with both of you, if you’re interested, Martin. Interview and fashion editorial since you’re known for your style. Touch on what it’s like working with Amanda on Sherlock, dual careers in the same field, opinions about the horrible music these days, let you be the grumpy hedgehog to show off Amanda’s charm even more.” Martin scowled at her as Amanda laughed.

“Oh, don’t get him started on music, or we’ll never convince him to go to the club with us later,” Adam interjected.

“Are we going dancing later?” Layla asked.

Dean called down the table, “That’s the plan. The club downstairs picks up around ten or eleven, and we have this room until closing, so we can go back and forth as we want. But you know you can’t get us together without all of us getting a bit rowdy on a dance floor.”

“Oh, god, am I going to end up on Tumblr?” Layla groaned.

Everyone else shushed her dramatically as Martin looked at her with wide, glee-filled eyes. “You know about Tumblr?”

She blushed up to her roots as Richard looked at her in surprise, “You’ve never told me you’re on Tumblr.”

“I have one for fashion blogging – street style and such. It’s a great way to keep an eye on trends. I made the mistake of looking at Richard’s tag while he was in New Zealand.  _Never again_. I have his tag blocked now and every tv show or movie he’s ever been in blocked as well and all of his characters.”

“What did you see?” Martin asked.

“Every photo shoot he’s ever been in.”

“And?” Martin was not going to let this go.

“Apparently there is something called Bagginshield?” she began, her voice rising in embarrassment.

Martin started laughing and Layla just covered her face in her hands, causing everyone else at the table, who by this point was listening in, to laugh as well. Richard pulled her against him. “Don’t worry darling. Martin delights in tormenting his costars with this stuff.” He kissed her on top of her head. “Tumblr porn and kung-fu. Those are his hobbies.”

Aidan laughed. “You should have seen the look of demonic glee on his face when he showed Dean and I Durincest art.”

Dean shuddered. “He started printing stuff out and leaving it on our chairs.”

“Just sharing the love.” Martin’s laugh was almost evil. “You have to remember, I get it from both ends between The Hobbit and Sherlock.”

Layla laughed. “Some of it was really beautiful. I mean, there’s a lot of artistry that goes into what they’re doing. But mostly I was just thinking, ‘Back off shorty, that’s my man!’”

Graham snorted. “You realize he’s a shorty too, right?”

“Only in the movie. And regardless, Bilbo is shorter than Thorin.”

“Speaking of which, why haven’t you let her play with Orcrist?” Aidan called out.

“Don’t you think that’s a rather personal question?” Ken asked with a snicker.

“Not  _that_  one. The actual sword.”

“I’m waiting until I really screw up, and then I’ll let her play with it to get her forgive me.” Richard answered.

“Awww, but then I’ll never get to play with it.” She batted her eyelashes at Richard, smiling up at him impishly.

Stephen groaned melodramatically. “Oh, you guys are  _that_ couple.”

“What couple?” Richard asked.

“The sickly sweet couple.”

Layla shook her head. “No. I just can’t ever imagine him screwing up to the point where he would have to bribe me to get me to forgive him.”

“Exactly.  _That_  couple,” Martin rolled his eyes.

“Well, we don’t all have your talent for flirting through profanity, darling.” Layla answered.

“And you might want to rethink the wisdom of getting your partner furious at you and then giving them a sword.” Ian’s advice was tinged with laughter.

“I just want to know where you put it.” Layla looked at Richard questioningly.

“That’s what she said,” Aidan yelled.

The table erupted in laughter.

“I’m sorry, I’ve been fighting that for about five minutes now. Do you realize how many opportunities I have passed up.”

“And with that, I think it’s time for pudding.” Dean went to fetch the waitress and the rest of them went back to chatting. Laughter and conversation and ribald teasing continued over drinks and chocolate and cheesecake and people spread out in the room, moving from the tables and straight-back chairs to overstuffed sofas and arm-chairs. Aidan and Dean captured Layla again and demanded more head-scratches. “You two are grown men, you know that right?”

“Less talk, more scratching,” Aidan said, his impudent grin saving him from getting slugged in the arm.

She smiled at Richard, who had taken a spot on the sofa opposite next to Graham, and he smiled slightly in return. She wondered if something was wrong. He had seemed excited to be back with his friends before, but he had been reserved all evening.

“So, your hands aren’t doing anything. I think at least one of you should be giving me a head scratch.”

Dean put his hand on her head and left it there, stationary.

“I think you’re supposed to move it about, Fili.”

“That’s what she said,” whispered Aidan, setting the three of them off into another round of laughter.

“Oh, is that how you want to play it tonight, brother?” Layla looked at Dean, surprised by the look of challenge on his face. She looked back at Aidan, who was grinning. “Let’s do it,” he said.

“What am I getting myself into?” Layla asked, wondering if she should be worried.

“We try to get the best ‘that’s what she said’ line out of you.”

“So, I don’t have to do anything?”

“Nope. Now, come here.” Dean placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her so her back was to him. Then, he pulled her hair over to one side and started massaging her neck.

“Oh, now I’m going to be self-conscious about saying anything, but that feels really good.” He sought out all the knots of tension in her neck and slowly worked them with firm warm fingers. “Oh, yeah, right there.”

“I think this is cheating,” Aidan said, pouting at her.

She put her fingers against his lips. “Shhhh, don’t disturb him. He might stop.” She grinned.

Her eyes were closed, enjoying the magic Dean’s hands were working on her neck. He slid his hands up into her hair and let his nails scratch lightly against her scalp, and then started grabbing handfuls of her hair and pulling gently for a few seconds before letting go. “Okay, I’m just going to hire you to play with my hair.”

Aidan started snickering. Layla opened her eyes to look at him and shake her head reprovingly. “You’re a disturbed soul, child.”

Dean’s hands froze in her hair, and she felt his thumb slide across the short fuzz of hair covering one of her scars. His fingers then stroked across her head and found two more.

“Layla, are these more scars?” His voice was quiet as he leaned forward so he was talking directly into her ear.

She nodded. Richard, tired of watching Dean playing with Layla’s hair and knowing he wouldn’t have the patience to watch them whispering together, excused himself for a few minutes to go to the loo.

Dean watched Richard leave the room and then gestured for Aidan to lean in closer. “Are these really from an ex-boyfriend or is something going on we can help you with?”

Layla turned her face to Dean’s, surprise written large in her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Is Richard hurting you?”

“What? No!”

“Are you sure? Because,” Dean started to say, but Layla cut him off.

“Really. Richard would never hurt me.  _Ever_.”

She shrugged his hands off of her and stood, suddenly uncomfortable with the whole situation. She walked to the table and poured herself a glass of wine from one of the bottles that hadn’t been finished during dinner. She was drinking it, wishing Richard would come back, when she felt an arm around her shoulders. It was Aidan.

“He didn’t mean to upset you. He’s just had some friends deal with this, and it’s a soft spot for him.”

She smiled. “It’s sweet of him, but Richard would never ever hurt me. You have to know that, right?”

“I believe you. But Dean’s always going to be protective of women in situations like that.”

She turned to look at Dean who was watching the two of them with a concerned look on his face. She beckoned to him with a finger and he slowly crossed to them, with a look on his face like a child expecting to be scolded. “I think it’s sweet that you’re worried, but I’m safe. Really.”

“I’m sorry if I upset you.”

“It’s alright. I wish I had more people concerned about me when it was going on. But I’m safe now, and Joshua is going to spend a long time in jail and a lot of that is because of Richard. So don’t worry about me, and continue to worship him.”

“We don’t worship him,” they replied, practically in unison, and Aidan punched Dean in the arm.

“I think we should go dance,” Dean said.

“I think that sounds like a perfect idea.” She could feel the bass from the club throbbing in the floor. She unzipped her jacket and hung it over the back of the chair as Aidan asked if anyone else wanted to come with them. Amanda jumped to her feet, and looked at Martin. “I’ll be down in a few minutes.” Adam came along, and together, the five of them headed out the door for the club downstairs.

Richard returned just in time to see Layla leaving with Dean’s arm around her shoulders. He realized he had been wrong earlier. She hadn’t been wearing a black tee under her jacket, but a black vest, and the entire back was lace. He watched as Dean moved his hand to her back as he escorted her out the door, and he could feel his jaw grinding. He knew that they were just going downstairs, but it grated on him that she had left without him. It bothered him that Dean was touching her, even if everything he was doing could be construed as friendly. It irritated him that Layla let a man she barely knew be so familiar with her. If he was really honest with himself, it bothered him that she was so comfortable with another man at all. He thought she was just that open and friendly with him, and to see her melting under Dean’s touch caused him to question the uniqueness of her response to him and the depth of her attachment to him. Was he really the love of her heart, or had he just enjoyed convenient timing, picking her up from a low point and overwhelming her into accepting his love because she didn’t know anything different than being in a relationship, and it was easier than striking out on her own.

As he was standing there, debating what to do as icy fingers of doubt and fear and anger plucked at the flesh of his heart, Martin walked up to him. “Shall we go rescue our women from the young pups?”

“I don’t know. I think those young pups may actually be her litter mates. I’m just going to be the kill-joy parent breaking up the fun.”

Martin looked up at him. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No. Maybe I was wrong about how she felt about me. Maybe I’m just the rebound until she finds someone more the same age. Someone like Dean.”

“You’re an idiot. Anyone with half a brain can see how she looks at you. That’s love, man, and you’re a fucking moron to doubt it. Come on, go see for yourself.”

The two of them walked down the stairs and onto the dance floor. What he saw did not ease his mind in the least.


	17. Chapter 17

Richard and Martin walked down the stairs and into the club. The bass from the music resonated through the worn wooden stairs and into his body, the beat doing nothing to calm his fraying nerves. When they hit the dance floor, it wasn’t hard to find the people he was looking for. It was her hair he saw first, loose and wild around her as she was dancing, bouncing up and down to the beat. She was between Dean and Aidan. They weren’t actually touching, but the three of them were definitely dancing together. Dean yelled something and she grinned at him, her face shining with happiness. She leaned forward to say something into his ear, and Richard watched an answering grin appear on Dean’s face. He put his arm around her waist, his hand spread on the small of her back as she stepped into him, their legs alternating. They started dancing together. He had enough of a dance background to know that what they were doing wasn’t particularly difficult, but watching her hips sway and pop like that against someone else had an effect completely out of proportion to their complexity.

He turned to Martin with a ‘does that just look like friends dancing together?’ expression, and Martin laughed. “You worry too fucking much. That’s just how they dance these days. Go dance with your woman.” He went and joined Adam and Amanda.

Richard went back to watching as Layla ran her hands through her hair and then left one arm on Dean’s shoulder. Aidan stepped in closer to her back and said something to her, he couldn’t tell what over the music, and he watched as she turned her face to him to answer. She reached back and rubbed her hand along his neck. That was the breaking point, watching her touch both of them, barely enough room for air between their bodies. He turned around and headed back up the stairs, not trusting himself to confront her on the dance floor without turning it into a scene.

He had finished one whiskey and was on a second when she walked back into the upstairs room. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair had started to dampen around her forehead. She grinned at him as she grabbed her purse and headed down the back hall to the loo. He put his drink down on the table and followed her. She was just shutting the door when he blocked it with his hand and pushed in after her.

He locked the door behind him and leaned against it.

Layla looked at him oddly. “I haven’t peed in front of you yet. I’m not going to start now.”

“Are you enjoying yourself?”

“I’m having so much fun!” She smiled. “I haven’t been to a club in too long.”

“So, which one are you planning on going home with tonight?” His mouth was a hard line in a cold face, his eyes frozen steel.

The smile faded from Layla’s face in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Aidan or Dean. Now that you’ve had some time to rub up against both of them like a cat in heat, have you made your choice? Or you just going to go back to the hotel with both of them and take turns?”

“How dare you!”

He was in her face in an instant. “How dare I?” She could see the vein in his forehead throbbing as he kept his voice at a furious whisper. “How dare  _you_  spend the entire night with your hands all over them? From the moment we got here, you’ve been petting them and touching them. And then Dean’s giving you a fucking massage and you’re making noises you should only be making for  _me_. And then you disappear with them without even saying a word to me and I go down there and you’re sandwiched between the two of them grinding on Dean. Tell me, did you get him nice and hard?”

She stepped back, her jaw clenched shut against the words trying to claw their way out, her hands balling into fists at her sides.

“This is some kind of fucked up joke, right?” she finally managed to say.

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

“If I was going to cheat on you, do you think I would be so fucking idiotic to do it in front of you? Oh, but that’s right, I  _am_  that stupid. You keep telling me I’m not, but you agree with Joshua, don’t you? Stupid little girl that needs to be threatened into obedience.”

“I am  _not Joshua_!” he bellowed, his voice echoing off the tile and granite in the small room.

“You sure are acting like him. You’re just Joshua with a bigger cock. Which I guess is appropriate, because right now you’re behaving like a world-class dick!” she yelled back.

“Don’t you ever compare me to that fucking bastard. He put you in the hospital. I’m the one who protected you from him.”

“Until you decided to turn on me like a rabid dog. You called them puppies. And you’re right. They’re giant floppy puppies who like having their heads scratched and like to play. So we danced together. So what? I also danced with Martin and Adam and Amanda, but that’s beside the point, because what this boils down to is you don’t trust me. They’re puppies and I’m a bitch, so you, stud, can go fuck yourself, because if you can’t trust me to go dancing with friends and not mindlessly fuck every man who walks by, then there’s no point of us keeping this charade going.”

She grabbed her purse off the counter and flipped the lock on the door and stormed out of the room, her heels echoing down the hall.

Richard growled in frustration and slammed his fists against the counter. He stared at himself in the mirror, forcing himself to take a series of deep breaths before he went after her. He yanked the door open and, taking another deep breath, forced himself to walk calmly down the hall. When he came out in the main room, there was an awkward silence. He wondered how much they had heard.

Graham looked at him with a ‘you are in deep shit’ expression and he realized that they must have heard a lot.

He sighed. “I take it she left?”

Ian nodded. “She might be downstairs dancing, but I wouldn’t guarantee it. Especially since she took her jacket.”

Richard sighed again and rubbed his forehead. “God, I fucked that up.”

“It did sound that way.” Ian had earned the right to be brutally honest, and Richard didn’t begrudge him that.

Richard slumped down on the sofa and Graham handed him the glass he had put down a few minutes before. “What do I do?”

“Well,” Ian intoned solemnly, “now would be the time to let her play with Orcrist.”

***

He shut the door behind him and didn’t bother turning on the light. He dumped his keys, wallet, and mobile on the table and headed down the hall to his bedroom. He wondered where Layla had gone. She hadn’t answered her mobile when he had called her. He kicked his shoes off as he pulled at his tie. He went in the closet to hang up his tie and stripped down to his pants, throwing the rest of the dirty clothes in the hamper. He might burn them later. He was exiting the closet when he saw her.

“What are you doing here?”

She was sitting cross-legged at the head of the bed wearing his green tee. “It’s our bed. Where else would I be?”

“After tonight, anywhere but here.” He sunk down on the edge of the bed, leaving a few inches between them.

She looked down at her hands. He noticed she had one of her hair ties and had been fiddling with it. It had been twisted past functionality at this point. “I was going to go to Izzy’s, but in the cab I started thinking about how I accused you of being like Joshua, and how that’s the way I view relationships, through a ‘like Joshua/not like Joshua’ binary. If I don’t have anything between those two, then you either are him or you’re not. Black and white. No grey.” She looked up at him for a moment to see how he was responding and he smiled encouragingly at her.

“And I started thinking about your ex-girlfriend,” she looked back down at the tortured hair tie, “and I don’t even know her name, but your last big serious relationship she cheated on you, and I think maybe you have the same issue; that me showing affection to anyone else means I’m cheating on you.”

He slipped his fingers under her chin and lifted her face so she was looking at him. “You are really smart.”

She had tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry for hurting you. I didn’t mean to, I’m just a cuddle bug and they are big floppy puppies.”

That almost garnered a laugh from him. “I’m sorry for hurting you, too. I hate what I said to you. Can you ever forgive me?”

She stroked his cheek. “I’ll forgive you if you forgive me.” He grabbed her waist and lifted her onto his lap, and she wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. His hands slid to the curve of her bum, holding her tightly against him. He bent his head to her ear and whispered, “Mine.”

The word traced down her spine, sending shivers through her body. “Yours,” she murmured back, lifting her face to his for a kiss. He didn’t disappoint her, his lips claiming her in a swift, hard motion, and she felt him press his tongue into her mouth. Not surprised at his need, she opened to him, letting him seek whatever he might need from her. He felt different as she held him. There was tension radiating off of him like the smell of scorched ozone that lingered after a lightning strike. She could feel him gradually relaxing under her hands as she slowly stroked his back and their lips and tongues moved together. He bit at her bottom lip, harder than he normally did, and growled against her swollen lips, “Mine.”

“Yours,” she repeated. “I’m yours, Richard. No one else’s. Just yours.” She took his face in her hands so he had to look at her. “Yours. I promise.” She kissed him softly. “Just yours.” She searched his eyes with hers, looking for belief. “Do you want me to get your name tattooed on my bum?”

He laughed. “No, but next time you go get waxed, you could have them do it in the shape of an R.”

She giggled. “I’ll try and remember that.”

“Does it bother you that I’m so much older than you are?”

The sudden change in topic didn’t surprise her. As she had sat in the moonlight dappled darkness of their bedroom, she had been wondering if Aidan and Dean being so much closer to her age had contributed to his reaction. “No.”

“Just that? No?”

“Do you want me to tell you how pretty you are?”

He chuckled sheepishly. “Kind of.”

“You are gorgeous,” she said with complete sincerity, “and sexy, and loving, and handsome, and funny and you are intelligent and talented and your soul is a little scarred. But that’s okay, because that’s how you know that I am in love with you, and not just your fantastic body. I could have left tonight and no one would have blamed me. But I came back because I love you. If you were perfect, I would never have an opportunity to show you that I love who you really are.” She stopped talking to kiss him. She had been sitting in his lap for too long without kissing him, and she knew he needed to hear with his body as much as with his ears, and her lips were soft and compelling and added another layer of convincing persuasion. And really, it was just hard not to kiss him in general, but especially when he was so close and so warm and so wrapped around her.

Finally, she pulled back and rested her head on his shoulder, her forehead pressed against the slightly rough skin of his throat. “I don’t want a younger guy. I don’t want Aidan or Dean. I want you. I love  _you_. You have been so gentle with me, to the point that even when you got mad at me tonight I knew you wouldn’t physically hurt me. Now that I know that this is a tender spot for you, I can hopefully not bruise it again. I can help you learn to trust again.”

He sat quietly, letting her tender words soak into his heart. She was right. He didn’t completely trust her yet, but he would. She would help him, fix his broken places just the way he had done with her.

Finally, he said, “I think I’m supposed to let you play with Orcrist now.”

She smiled and kissed his jawline. “Which one?”

“Whichever you want.” She could feel him responding, finally, to the warmth and weight of her in his lap, and she knew he was finally coming back to himself, back to her.

“I just want you.”

She had thought he would be needy, holding her tight, holding her down, as he physically staked his claim to her body. But he wasn’t. Instead, she made love to him, her hands gently touching every inch of his skin, her lips making pilgrimage over his body as she stopped to worship at his sacred places. She ran her nails down his thighs, let her hair veil her face as she worshiped at his holiest of holies until he was praying her name and his calls to god were answered with her hands. They came together in body first, supplicant and oracle, together, speaking an ancient language of moans and whispers as they breathed in each other like the sacred fumes of Delphi. And then it was more than bodies and she felt something within him rupture as she rode him, a dam with fifteen years of silted pain behind it giving way to the spring floods of new love, and she inundated him with every precious word she could find to tell him of her love until his heart was as salt-pure as the tears she kissed from his face. And the final amen, a whispered, “Yours,” a kiss of fellowship and communion, and then the congregant’s response.

“Mine.”

 


	18. Chapter Eighteen

Layla was even more nervous than the night before. Now she had met them, and they had been treated to her and Richard screaming at each other and then her storming off in a huff. Lovely first impression, right?

And then she thought about Aidan and Dean, and would they expect the same level of contact they had enjoyed previously? Layla had always been physically affectionate growing up. Her group of friends during school had always ended up in a giant pile watching movies at someone’s house. People were pillows, and backrubs were common. She had never thought that someone would consider that inappropriate, but now, as she remembered what she had done, and looked at it from Richard’s perspective, she could see why he had been upset. Sure, nothing was going to happen, and she knew that, and she was pretty sure Aidan and Dean had both known that – I mean, it’s not like either of them got a stiffy from dancing with her – but still, had the other people there thought she was violating the bonds of her relationship with Richard? And if they had, what did that make them think of Richard, that she would so blatantly be intimate with others right in front of him?

Getting dressed had been even more difficult today, because she didn’t want to look sexy, but she didn’t want to look like she was trying not to look sexy, and since she favored fitted clothes and had boobs, she was limited in her options. She finally settled on a simple sheath dress with a lace cardi over the top, and pulled her hair back in an almost severe looking French twist.

She walked out into the living room where Richard was waiting for her, like always it seemed lately.  “Is this okay? Not too…vavavoomy?”

“You look lovely.”

She didn’t seem satisfied with his answer. “I can change if you want me to.”

“Why would I want you to change?”

“So I don’t look too sexy.”

He held his hand out to her and she took it and he tugged her down on his lap. “You, my sweet Layla, are always going to be sexy. It doesn’t matter what you’re wearing.” His hand curved around her hip. “Last night wasn’t about what you were wearing, it was about me not trusting you, and us having different expectations of what was normal, and me losing my temper instead of talking.”

She stroked his cheek. “I know you know that in your head, but I want to be especially careful until you know that in your heart. I don’t like hurting you.”

“You being someone you’re not hurts me.”

She shook her head. “I embarrassed you in front of your friends, though.”

“ _I_  embarrassed me in front of my friends. If I had just trusted you, or just talked to you instead of accusing you of horrible things, it would have been fine. “

“How am I supposed to fix this then?” She looked at him, wanting a list of instructions on how to love him. “I have to change something.”

“No, you don’t. I didn’t change who I was around you for you to trust me not to be Joshua. I don’t want you to be someone else, I just need more time.

“But,” she started and was hushed with one of his fingers pressed against her lips.

“No. Layla, my love, I’m going to tell you something, and you have to promise to use this information for good and  not evil.”

She looked at him warily, not sure if she should laugh or be suspicious. “Okaaaaay.”

“You, my sweet, are sex on a stick. You radiate sexuality. I can’t see you without wanting to push you up against the nearest flat surface and fuck you senseless.”

Her breath shattered in her chest, and she could feel a sudden heat igniting between her thighs. His voice deepened and softened as he spoke, and she watched his pupils slowly widen.

“It’s not anything you do on purpose. It’s who you are. That morning when you woke up here, and didn’t know where you were, do you know when I decided I had to see you again?”

“No.”

“It was when you put on your heels.”

“Really?”

“I already knew you were sexy, but there was something about watching you put on your heels. You bent over, and your dress hugged the curve of your rear, and the way it arched your foot, and shifted the muscles in your legs, and your hips came forward a bit when you stood back up. It was the most unconsciously erotic thing I have ever seen.” His hand had trailed down her leg as he spoke, and as it slowly made its way up her bare calf, he let his fingers slide under her skirt and rest against her thigh.

“I really thought it was just going to be a one night thing – but then you made me laugh – and somewhere in that night we spent together, I discovered that I wanted to bring you flowers as much as I wanted to bring you to orgasm.”

He leaned forward and kissed her gently. “My problem is that I can’t imagine a straight man alive who can watch you walk across a room and not want to have sex with you. What I have to do is remember that you don’t want to have sex with them.”

Her cheeks flushed with color. “You’re right. The only person I want to have sex with is you.” She poked him in the chest. “And, um, honestly,” she looked down at her lap, “I wouldn’t mind getting shoved up against the wall and fucked by you on a regular basis.”

“Really?” His quirky half-smile at her words made her go weak in the knees. Luckily she was already in his lap.

“You were…rougher? I guess, for lack of a better word, before you found out about Joshua, about what he did to me. But there’s a difference between him smacking me around and you spanking my ass when you’re taking me from behind.” Her naughty smile didn’t make anything about him go weak.

“I didn’t want to remind you of him in our bed.”

“Honey, nothing about you reminds me of him in our bed.  I haven’t needed to buy batteries since I moved in with you.”

She waited for that statement to sink in, and knew that it had when he got a grin like a cat with a saucer full of cream. “Really. If I bought you batteries would you let me watch?”

“Do you think you would be able to just watch?”

He raised an eyebrow. “No touching?”

She shook her head. “No touching me, no touching yourself, either.”

“Until you’re done. And then I get to touch you,” he insisted. “I would touch you now, but your skirt is too tight. You should wear looser skirts. They may not show off your ass as well, but they make it easier to touch.” He squeezed her thigh. His hand had managed to inch its way up, but was trapped by the fabric of her skirt from advancing any closer to its goal.

She laughed. “You sound like a five year old boy who got his favorite toy taken away.”

“If I pout do I get it back?”

She nipped at his protruding bottom lip and he took the opportunity to pull her in for a kiss, his free hand grabbing the back of her neck and holding her close so he could take his time. Her breath was hot on his cheek as he left her swollen lips for the soft skin of her throat.

“How important is it that we’re there at the beginning of this reception?”

“Not important enough for me to stop kissing your neck.”

“Good.” She stood, shimmied her skirt up around her hips and straddled his lap. “Because right now, this seems much more important to me.” She let him grab her bum and pull her against him, softness and hardness meeting.

Layla moaned softly in her throat at how hard he was. It was one thing to feel it against her hip when she sat on his lap, but entirely different when it was nestled against her wetness with nothing but a thin scrap of satin or lace in the way.

He went back to her neck, leaving a trail of soft little bites down her throat to the neckline of her dress. His hands were still cupping her arse, squeezing in a slow rhythm that set her to rocking against him.  She pulled off her cardigan and dropped it on the floor, wanting to bare more skin to his touch. There were too many clothes. Way too many clothes.

She tugged at the knot on his tie but he grabbed her hand. “Not right now.”

It was her turn to pout. He tugged at the zipper on her dress. “I want you naked on my lap while I’m still fully dressed.” The metallic rasp of the zipper coming undone down her back slid along her nerves and she shivered. He pulled the dress off over her head, the silk fabric sliding like a cool touch over her skin. He abandoned her neck for her breasts, sucking the lace covered nipple into his mouth. His tongue rasped the embroidered fabric against her delicate flesh and she grabbed his head, letting her nails lightly scratch against his scalp.

She felt the bra loosen as he undid the clasp with a single hand. He trailed his fingers down her spine and she arched her back like a cat being petted, her body sinewy and undulating in search of his hand. His fingertips brushed over the cleft of her arse before his hand grabbed one cheek and scratched his nails over the curve of her skin.

“Stand up, darling. Take off your knickers but leave your heels on.”

She felt a surge of wet heat gather in her core at the words. His deep and velvety voice had always had a magical effect, making water and fire combine against all the rules of nature. She did as she was told and quickly took her place back on his lap. He slouched against the back of the sofa and spread his legs, forcing her to widen her stance.

“God you’re beautiful, Layla.” He reached up and pulled the pins from her hair, letting it fall down around her bare shoulders. He rested one hand on the curve of her hip as he slipped his other hand between her legs, letting it skim up the inside of her thigh. “I never did spend all evening fingering you like I promised I would. What do you think, Layla, should I do that now?”

“As long as you don’t ask me to be capable of speech while you’re doing it.” He brushed his fingers against her wetness as she was speaking and her voice cracked on the final words.

“You’re already wet, darling. Such a sweet wetness.”  She fell forward as he pressed between her folds and teased at her clit, and she rested her head against his shoulder. 

“I’m just going to give up now and let you do whatever you want.” She wrapped her arms around him, letting her hands drape over the back of the sofa.

“Those are dangerous words to tell me, Layla.” She’d never heard that exact note in his voice before, like she had just said the words he most wanted to hear from her lips, but also the ones he most feared.

She sat back so she could see his face. She kissed him softly.“I trust you, Richard.”

“Fuck this slow tease.” He surged to his feet and she grabbed on to him, startled by the sudden change of position. In an instant he had her back up against the wall. She felt him fumbling with the button on his trousers and she helped him undo it, and then pulled the zipper down. He didn’t take it out yet, content to just hold her against the wall, pressed against her naked flesh.

He kissed her and she thought he tasted different, spicier, hotter than normal. She felt his hand slide through her hair and then twine around his fingers. She felt his other hand slide against her stomach and then between them, and she rocked her hips to help him get right where he needed to be. He pushed inside her with one fierce motion that left her gasping for air and reeling from the sudden intrusion.

“You trust me, darling?”

“Absolutely.” She was looking him in the eyes and it was like facing a desperate man. This is what she had expected last night – the rough claiming sex of a man who needed to reestablish his claim on a woman. And here it was, and it was beautiful. He knew her, exactly how to touch her, where to kiss and where to bite. She gave him herself, and he knew the exact angle to thrust to have her quivering in instants, how to read the pitch of her voice as a key to how close she was to coming undone, exactly how to touch her clit to make her shudder and cry his name.  He licked his fingers clean as she gasped for breath, still astounded after so many experiences at how perfectly he could reduce her to a breathless puddle of delight.

He had stopped thrusting and watched her chest heaving with fascination. He slowly stroked her neck and she felt his fingers close gently around her throat.

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

He squeezed gently, just enough to stop her breath for a few seconds. He watched her, looking for any sign of fear or discomfort. She felt her blood run hot as she realized how vulnerable she was, how easily and fast he could hurt her, and how completely safe she was.

He loosened his grip and she pulled his mouth to hers. She had to kiss him, a primal drive to give to him the air he had stopped in her lungs. She felt the adrenaline surge through her body, the fight or flight impulse turning into scorching need and wet desire. She could hear the difference, how wet she was around him as he started to drive into her again.

He stopped her throat again, no more pressure than absolutely necessary.

“Would you let anyone else do this to you, Layla?” he asked against her lips. She shook her head, unable to speak, feeling the energy damming up in her groin like the air in her lungs. 

“Who would you let do this to you?” He let her breathe again.

“Just you.”

“Say my name.”

“Just you, Richard.”

He slid his hand up her throat so that he was cupping her jaw, the pad of his thumb pressing against her bottom lip.

“That’s right. Just me, Layla. Me and you.”

He pressed his thumb into her mouth, and she hollowed her cheeks around it, pressing it against the roof of her mouth with her tongue. He groaned, the hot clinging wetness of her mouth mimicking the action of her pussy around his thrusting cock with perfect synchronization. She was going to pull him out of himself. Take him into her, body and soul, if he would let her. She trusted him with her body, and as scarred as her soul was, she had given it to him time and time again. Even in her strength she was fragile compared to him, and she let him play with her for his enjoyment. The thrusting of his body shook something loose in him, something that he had been holding, hoarding, treasuring as justification for his standoffishness, but it didn’t work with her. She would take everything he gave her and still want more until she had all of him, all the broken damaged parts as well as the ones that shined and glistened. She loved all of him, even in his jealousy. She gave him complete control over her body, over the very life in her lungs with absolutely no fear.

“Me and you, Layla. Forever.”

She nodded, and he pulled his thumb from her mouth, treasuring up the little whine of disappointment she made at being left empty.

He smoothed his hand down her neck again, his wet thumb leaving a cool trail down the side of her throat. He squeezed one more time, and she smiled and mouthed the word, “Forever.”

He let go of her throat and she whispered. “Just you, Richard. Me and you, forever. Only you.” The words brushed against his cheek like kisses. She leaned forward and tugged at his earlobe with her teeth. “Now come in me. Mark me as yours, love.”

His fingers sank into her waist, holding her in just the right spot as he quickened the pace of his hips driving into her. Her fingers left trails of fire down his back as she tilted her hips, getting him to hit her clit with every deep thrust as he sank himself deeper into her body.

He opened his eyes as he felt her hands disappear only to see her fondling her own breasts, rolling and tugging her nipples, her head thrown back as her breaths turned into splintered gasps and her words were a boiling mixture of the sacred and the profane.

He sank his teeth into her shoulder, not hard, not wanting to hurt, but wanting to taste her, to mark her, to spark her final surge into ecstasy. He felt it roll through her like thunder, echoing in the spasms of her body around his cock and he gave in to her demands and came in her, spilling so much more than his seed into her waiting embrace.

He didn’t want to let her go, and from the way she was holding him, she had the same desire. She finally giggled. “We are going to be  _so_ late.”


	19. Chapter Nineteen

His hand was over her mouth, his thumb stroking the delicate skin under her chin. She had tried to keep quiet, but she couldn’t; not with the way he was moving inside her. And so he had finally covered her mouth with his hand, muffling her moans of ecstasy. She couldn’t believe they were doing this. They had been so late to the gallery showing anyway and now here they were in the bathroom shagging again.

Walking in had been awkward. They kept getting speculative glances from the rest of the actors. Layla kept her hand in Richard’s, not wanting to give anyone grounds to think that there were problems between them. Everyone must have talked after she stormed out because it felt like Aidan and Dean were giving her a wide berth while everyone else was trying not to be awkward in that way that just made it even more awkward than it would have been otherwise.

Tired of feeling surreptitiously watched, Layla finally turned to Richard and slipped her hands around his waist under his suit coat. Looking up at him, she said, “Do you think people would stop looking at us strange if we made out for a minute right here to prove that we’re still happy and together?”

A wicked smile tugged at his mouth. “Do you think we’d be able to stop after a minute?”

She suppressed a giggle as she bit her bottom lip. “I doubt it.”

“Me too.” He slipped his hand into her hair, tangling the curls around his fingers, and tilted her head slightly as he bent to her for a long firm kiss. “That should do it, I think,” he said against her lips when he released her several seconds later.

She nodded, breathless. “It definitely convinced me.” She could see his chuckle vibrating in his throat and she pressed a gently kiss to his neck. “I’m going to go look at the art. Go talk to your friends.”

He watched her walk off, his head slightly tilted and with a small appreciative smile as he watched the familiar but still mesmerizing sway of her hips. She’d left the cardigan at home and hadn’t bothered to put her hair back up, and she seemed at home in her skin in a way she hadn’t earlier today. He sighed contentedly and figuring that he should start with the people who had actually overhead the argument, went to go find Graham.

“You too look happier than you did when you left last night.” Graham had found him.

Richard chuckled. “Yes. She calls me on my shit. I need that.”

“You sure? You didn’t sound like you needed her last night. You sounded like you hated her.”

Richard shook his head. “I love her. Sometimes your past just kicks you in the balls when you least expect it. But we talked. And we’re good.”

“Just like that?”

“She was waiting for me when I got home. Wearing my shirt, waiting for me in our bed, and apologized for not understanding how her actions were coming across to me.”

Graham snorted. “Surprisingly mature for someone her age.”

“She’s been through a lot. That scar on her forehead? Ex-boyfriend gave it to her a few months ago. Put her in the hospital. She’s earned her maturity. I’m careful with her emotional past and she’s careful with mine, once I’m willing to let her know what it is.”

“Well, good on ya, mate. I suppose the sex is fantastic with a young one like that, too.”

“I don’t suppose that is any of your business.”

Graham was surprised at the edge to Richard’s voice. “You’re right. Sorry.”

Richard circulated through the room talking to his friends and admiring the art. Graham’s words, though he was sure were meant in a friendly way, rankled. It’s not like sex hadn’t been one of the many things that had been joked about in the months all of the dwarves had spent together. This was different though. He wasn’t sure which words bothered him more, ‘young one’ or ‘like that.’ Layla was so much more than simply young or sexy, and he didn’t want people thinking that he saw her as just a pretty young thing to warm his bed. She was the other half of his heart. It was as if he had been walking around with a huge hole in his chest his whole life, thinking that all people felt like part of their self was missing, and then he had met her and the rest of him had said, “Oh, there you are.”

He didn’t even want to think about having to go shoot pickups for  _Black Sky._ He hadn’t told Layla yet that he was leaving for three weeks. He wasn’t sure if it was because he didn’t want her to be sad or if he didn’t want to have to admit to himself that he wasn’t going to be holding her every night.

He spun in a slow circle, looking for her and found her staring mesmerized at a piece of art. He couldn’t tell what it was from the angle he was at, but he enjoyed looking at her. He watched as Dean crossed to where she was standing. She said something, without even bothering to turn to look at him. He answered, and she spun and threw her arms around his neck. Dean laughed and hugged her back. Stomping on the sprouting jealousy taking root in his stomach, he walked over to where they were hugging. He was about to place his hand on Layla’s back when he saw what she had been looking at. He turned to the photograph in stunned silence.

It was him. At some point last night during dinner Dean had taken his picture. He was talking to someone and was gesturing with his hands. Layla was sitting next to him, gazing at him with a look of absolute love on her face. He realized that this must be what everyone meant about ‘the way she looks at you.’ Her head was tilted up slightly so that she was looking at his eyes, and she shone. A smile teased at her lips. The sparkling wit or burning lust or smoldering sensuality she was used to seeing in her face was replaced with a softer, gentler light. He had never seen that look on her face before and he realized that she must only look at him like that when she wasn’t the focus of his attention. This look wasn’t in response to something he had done to her or for her. It was her loving him without him doing anything to earn it.

“I hope you don’t mind me hanging it without your permission,” Dean said.

Richard shook his head. “I don’t remember you taking it.” He was still looking at the photo, looking at her look at him.

“I’ve gotten good at being unobtrusive. I’ve been wanting to capture that look on her face since we Skyped in New Zealand. I’m just lucky I caught the right moment.”

“You’re going to let me buy this.”

“It’s a gift.”

“No, really. You deserve to be paid for this.”

Dean shook his head. “You don’t have to.”

“Yes we do,” Layla finally spoke up. “You’re an artist. And not only is that photo art, it’s the first time I’ve looked at myself and thought I was beautiful. So even if you won’t let  _Richard_ pay you, you’re going to let  _me_.”

Dean laughingly held up his hands. “Fine, I surrender. I’ll take your money.”

He went to go talk to someone else and Richard slid his hands around Layla’s waist and pulled her gently back against him. She reclined her head so it was resting on his shoulder.

“You love me,” he murmured against her ear.

“Yes.”

“Marry me.”

“Yes.”

He laughed. “That was easy.”

“I already know that I’m going to spend the rest of my life with you. Let’s have a fantastic party to celebrate that.”

He spun her around so she was facing him. “You’re really going to marry me?” He sounded surprised.

“Of course I am. I love you.”

“Last time you said no.”

“Last time was you proposing to a situation, not to me.”

“But this time you’re saying yes.”

She smiled. “Yes.”

“Say it again for me?” Where normally ‘say it again’ was a command, this time it was a plea.

“Yes. Yes, I love you, yes, I’ll marry you, yes, I’ll have your babies.”

He chuckled and bent to her ear. “You want to practice?”

“Practice what?”

“Making babies.”

She looked around the crowded gallery. “Right here?”

“Well, I think we should probably find someplace a bit more private.”

That was how they had ended up locked in the elegantly appointed bathroom, her skirt up around her waist, knickers shoved to the side, the heel of her shoe hooked through one of his belt loops and his hand over her mouth. He murmured in her ear, words of love and lust and scandalous naughtiness. She was so close to coming, and he could tell by the way her nails were digging into the muscles of his back though his coat, the tremor in her inner thighs as she pressed against him, the pleading look in her eyes, begging him for that final little spark.

He pressed a kiss to her ear, and whispered, “I love you, Layla, my wife.”

Two little words,  _my wife,_  and it sent them both over the edge together.

Nothing is sexier than true love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, my loves, all good things must come to an end. And this is the end of Sweet Layla.I am sure that I will be writing one-shots for these two for a while to come, and I have vague inklings of an idea for a sequel, but the main story line is going to take a pause here for the time being. But, for all my Armitage Army members, I’ve started writing a fic that fixes season nine of Spooks, also known as the abomination that shall not be mentioned, and you can look forward to that starting up when I’ve finished up a few more of the multi-chapter stories I currently have going. Love all of you, and hope you stick around for more Richard Armitage goodness to come.


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